


Undertow

by tentacledicks



Series: Into The Storm [3]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dom/sub, Flogging, Frotting, Gambling, M/M, Rough Sex, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/pseuds/tentacledicks
Summary: Things are getting more serious than Aiden was expecting. He doesn't know when they went from cordial acquaintances to this, but if Jordi's going to give him a job because of it, it's probably a relationship now. If he could figure out what that meant, he'd be happier about it.Some days, it's easier than others. The ones where he gets to kill not just one, but two scumbags? Those are the good days.





	1. rip current_

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a little different than Still Waters, because I'm winging this one. Expect updates to be a little more sporadic and the tags to change/grow as I nail things down. There's definitely going to be a third chaptered entry to the series too, but we're going to have to fight our way through this (potential) monster first.
> 
> Also, uh, jumping straight into that E rating by the way.

**April 11th, 2017, 19:08**

 

“Jesus, Jordi, where the hell did you _find_ that?”

“It’s fucking Vegas, Aiden, you can buy shit like this at the corner store.” Jordi grinned at him, twirling the flogger in one hand. It was pitch black and made of real leather, unsurprising given Jordi’s taste for the finer things. All the same, Aiden could nearly _smell_ the cheap plastic of the flogger Damien had used on him once, and he eyed it with suspicion.

“I thought we’d agreed on no hitting,” he said warily, setting his beer down on the counter. They’d been together in Las Vegas for less than two hours and already Jordi was coming back up to the room with sex toys. Not that he objected to sex toys, in theory, but he’d been hoping to finish unpacking at first.

“Yeah, we did.” Aiden blinked at the easy agreement, then blinked again when Jordi held out a hand imperiously. “Give me your arm. Listen, I’ve been paying attention—don’t look at me like that, you’re the fucking dunce in this relationship—I’ve been paying attention and you don’t like heavy impacts. I smack you on the shoulder or flick you in the neck and you don’t give a shit, but if I socked you, you’d get all mad.”

“I know this comes as a surprise, Jordi, but people generally don’t like getting punched,” Aiden said, holding out his arm anyways. He was pretty sure he knew where this conversation was going, but he could never be positive with Jordi.

“Shut up, you know what I mean. So, you don’t like heavy stuff, that means no whipping, no paddling, no spanking. You said you don’t like flogging either, but Brenks didn’t even teach you how to safeword, so he probably shoved the thing up your ass or something, right? Right. Just tell me if this a hard no still.”

Aiden choked on a laugh, then hissed as Jordi brought the flogger down on his arm with a whistling crack. It… didn’t hurt as much as he’d been anticipating, a sharp bright note of pain that faded quickly and left only faint red marks behind. Jordi was watching him intently as he flexed his hand. Maybe Damien had hit harder. Or maybe Aiden hadn’t been in the right headspace to remember _what_ Damien had been doing—he certainly couldn’t remember the exact sequence of events that had led to him pinning the man with his arm nearly broken.

Jordi set the flogger down, then smoothed one palm up over the skin of Aiden’s arm, rubbing the welts until they disappeared completely. Something about the touch helped ease the tight ball of anger and hurt in his chest, pulling at the threads of it until it unraveled.

The flogger didn’t hurt any more than Jordi’s teeth and nails did—less, honestly. It wasn’t like the hard impact of flesh on flesh and the bone-deep bruises that would follow, and it didn’t carry the acidic taste of fear and resentment that Aiden remembered. After a couple more seconds of consideration, he nodded slowly.

“It’s not a no,” he said, holding up a finger before Jordi could get _too_ excited, “but it’s not a yes either. I’m not sure. It just feels different when you do it.”

“I’ll take that.” Jordi gave his arm a final once over, then let it go. He grabbed the flogger—and the plastic bag it had emerged from—on his way back to the bedroom, whistling cheerfully. His bags had already been unpacked by the time Aiden had gotten to the resort and valeted the car he’d driven from Salt Lake City. This had been something spur of the moment, Jordi calling him up at two in the morning to ask him if he wanted a vacation, then telling him where to go when Aiden had said yes.

It wasn’t a vacation, not really—Jordi had a job and Aiden had one of the small-fry buyers in the same vicinity—but it was as close as they were getting. A couple weeks in Vegas with only a few spats of violence and as much time as he could want with Jordi. Which might not be as much time as they _had_ , depending on how often Jordi was going to be an ass, but Aiden was willing to take the risk.

Things had been… not nice, but comfortable for the last few months. It wasn’t like they travelled together; Jordi had global mobility and picked up jobs in groups when he stopped over in a city, so he had a lot of scheduling issues, while Aiden’s work was tied directly with the movement of traffickers across the nation and couldn’t be planned that far in advance. But sometimes they would end up in the same city together for a couple nights, and things would be good. He could sleep again.

Sometimes things didn’t work out, and he couldn’t, but that was a risk they took. ‘Commitment’ was as foreign a notion as ‘staying safe’ in their line of work. Casual, easy, no-strings-attached, _that_ was how you did it.

And if driving over four hundred miles for a weekend getaway wasn’t _any_ of those things, well, Jordi hadn’t said shit about it, so Aiden wasn’t about to either. Even if he had noticed that this suite had a balcony so he could smoke when Jordi _hated_ anything with potential access points like that. Maybe they were both playing this game, never giving voice to things so that they didn’t run the risk of ruining it.

Or maybe he was overthinking. It could go either way.

Fuck it. They weren’t in Vegas so he could spend the whole time trying to decipher Jordi’s motives. That was just asking for a headache, and there were a lot more things he could be having _fun_ doing to get a headache that size. Aiden downed the rest of his beer and set the bottle next to the sink. He’d finish unpacking and then see what Jordi had in mind for the evening—the man was practically vibrating with excitement, so ‘casual exploration of toys’ wasn’t the only thing up his sleeve.

Sure enough, Jordi was fussing over something with the mattress. Aiden leaned over to get a look, then shook his head and continued on to his bag, pulling out the rest of his clothes; he’d already grabbed his laptop and set it in the front room, but he hadn’t bothered to do more than that. Jordi would have a plan for where to put their guns, so he’d wanted to wait before getting serious when it came to unpacking.

“You’re going to love this,” Jordi said, finally bouncing back from the mattress. ‘This’ was apparently wrist and ankle cuffs run up under the mattress, with enough slack that they could actually fit around the king-sized mattress. Most of the time, Jordi used rope or various pieces of clothing. It was definitely a change.

“Getting awful serious. Flogger, cuffs… what’s next, you got a chastity belt too?” Aiden grinned at the look Jordi gave him, then hefted the bag of guns and raised his eyebrows. Jordi jerked his head towards the dresser, which was already fairly well stocked when Aiden started opening drawers. He stowed his own guns away, frowning a little at the buildup in the slide of his pistol, then dumped the bag next to the dresser. “So, why are we in Vegas?”

“Got a guy I need to kill, I told you. Jesus, you need to get your ears cleaned or something, you’re going deaf already.” Jordi ambled over, making a disgusted noise at the state of Aiden’s guns.

“Uh-huh. But you’re pulling out all the stops, which means this isn’t just a job thing. I just want to know why Vegas _specifically_.” He lifted his hands up in surrender and stepped away from the dresser. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ clean his guns—Aiden tried to set aside time for it whenever he could. It was that he didn’t clean them after every single job like Jordi did, so they performed a little worse, and that deeply offended the fixer. Not really anything that Aiden noticed, not unless he’d skipped several weeks and they started jamming, but Jordi was the one who liked to do most of his jobs from half a mile away. Less room for error, probably.

Jordi made another noise of great disdain as he checked the pistol himself, then spun on one heel and grabbed Aiden by the front of his t-shirt. Aiden let himself be dragged forward, rolling his eyes as Jordi slipped a hand into one of his back pockets. It would have been a lie to say that he wasn’t enjoying this.

“So! _Why Vegas_. Now there’s a story and a half—you really want to hear all this? Just warning you, it’s long and most of it involves people dying, but it’s not like I’m against talking about it, I just don’t know if _you_ want to hear it.  But you know what? You asked, and I don’t really care about your feelings on the matter, so it all started when—”

Aiden kissed him, because that was the only way to get Jordi to shut up and he was pretty sure that was what Jordi was angling for in the first place. From the way Jordi’s lips curved in a smile against his, he’d guessed right.

The hand in his pocket squeezed as Aiden broke off the kiss and hooked two fingers in one of Jordi’s belt loops. “You’re diverting. Come on, give me the real reason. You have family here or something?”

That was a terrifying thought—Aiden had always thought that Jordi emerged from seafoam or something equally arcane, some demigod of violence. Jordi just… didn’t seem like the kind of guy to have a family. He was so _removed_ from everything and everyone else. What kind of people would raise a kid like that?

From the disgusted noise Jordi made, he found the idea equally abhorrent. “Ugh, no. You’re the worst. Nah, it’s simple: who the fuck is going actually believe that you’re here? I mean, come on, there’s got to be at least _three_ impersonators who do stripteases in your hat, literally everyone here looks almost exactly the same as you do, and all the pretty lights are so goddamn distracting that no one would look at you twice anyways. So you don’t have to be paranoid and shit. I mean, be a _little_ paranoid, that’s just healthy, but don’t be… you know.”

Jordi waved a hand vaguely, attempting to encompass the whole of Aiden’s frustrations with surveillance. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but it was somehow—he’d never really looked at his own safeguards as something Jordi would recognize, much less try and work around. It was like the balcony, something minor that Jordi was doing without thinking, unaware or uncaring of how much it actually _meant_ to Aiden.

Maybe it shouldn’t mean that much. Maybe he was reading into things again, assigning ulterior motives where there weren’t any.

Aiden pushed the thoughts away, pulling Jordi close to kiss him again. There wasn’t any reason to overthink it. This was the first time they’d gotten to see each other in over a month, and he was going to enjoy the chance to indulge a little. He got another squeeze for his efforts, then Jordi started steering him back towards the bed, exchanging lazy open-mouthed kisses until Aiden’s legs hit the edge of the mattress.

Jordi’s hand slid out of his pocket as Aiden let himself fall backwards, grabbing the hem of his shirt as he did. He yanked the whole thing off, tossing it across the room and starting in on his pants; above him, Jordi was shedding clothes just as fast, dumping his suit jacket on the floor along with his shirt and undershirt. By the time Jordi had his pants shoved down his thighs, Aiden had already kicked off his shoes and jeans and was impatiently reaching for Jordi again, trying to drag him down to the bed too.

Jordi came easily, shoving Aiden up further as he tangled his fingers in dark brown hair. If their kisses earlier had been sweet, this one was anything but—Jordi’s teeth caught his lower lip as Aiden groaned, hooking a leg over the other man’s hip. It wasn’t like this every time they first got together again, Jordi biting his way into Aiden’s mouth as Aiden raked blunt nails over his skin, but most times? Most times they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, frantic grabbing and half-desperate rutting. Sometimes, they didn’t even make it to the bed.

Aiden would feel worse about it if he didn’t know they had _weeks_ to take it slow once they had it out of their systems.

“Fuck, I bet you’re tighter than a nun,” Jordi breathed, nipping at Aiden’s jaw as he rolled their hips together.

“That’s _disgusting_ ,” Aiden said, though he couldn’t work up any real outrage. He was too busy hooking an arm around Jordi’s shoulders, hauling him closer as his other hand reached down between them. No lube, but that was fine—Jordi wouldn’t mind it a little rough.

“You like it.” Jordi kissed him again, thrusting his tongue into Aiden’s mouth before he could protest. Not that he _wanted_ to, except as a token argument against Jordi’s awful sense of humor. It was one of the things that was growing on him.

He grunted as Jordi hauled his hips up higher, hand jostled where it was wrapped around their cocks. With each roll of Jordi’s hips, the heat between them ramped up higher, precome slicking over Aiden’s fingers as he stroked them hard and fast. Jordi kept throwing him off rhythm, kissing him like he never wanted to breathe again and rutting into Aiden’s hand like it had been _years_ since he was touched last, not just a month.

It made him feel wanted. It made him feel _powerful_.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Aiden gasped against Jordi’s lips, his hand tightening around them both as his back arched. Already, lighting was firing through his nerves, heat pooling in his gut as his muscles tensed in anticipation.

Jordi groaned, their cocks rocking together as he jerked his hips. The hand in Aiden’s hair tightened, dragging his head back as Jordi pressed into him, his other hand raking nails over the curve of Aiden’s ass.

It was too much, too fast, Jordi not even kissing him anymore because he was too focused on grinding as his rhythm faltered; Aiden moaned as he came, his fingers squeezing them both tight. Jordi was only seconds behind him, shuddering as his hips stilled and he collapsed on top of him, burying his face in Aiden’s neck as he gasped softly.

For a few seconds, Aiden could barely remember how to breathe. Eventually he pulled his hand free, dragging his come-stained fingers against the covers. The housekeeping staff had probably seen worse.

It was embarrassing, how quickly they’d managed to get lost in each other like that, but at least he wasn’t alone—if Aiden was going to nearly come in his pants like a teenager, Jordi would be right there with him. The thought made him smile as he wrapped his arms more firmly around Jordi’s neck, ignoring the sticky mess pressed between them for the moment.

“Ugh,” said Jordi, untangling his fingers from Aiden’s hair and shifting his hands down to firmly squeeze Aiden’s thighs. Despite his noise of distaste, he made no move to climb off, instead pressing his face into Aiden’s neck and mouthing at the skin there.

“Forgot the condoms too.” Aiden’s smile widened at the derisive snort Jordi gave him. Stupid to be so happy over something like frantic, needy, just-saw-you-again sex, but he liked these little indications that Jordi was just as desperate for him as he was for Jordi. It made him feel less alone in the wash of feelings—not that they were doing this with feelings in mind.

His smile faltered at that thought. Casual, he reminded himself. If he got in too deep, he wasn’t getting back out again—Damien had taught him that much. Jordi wasn’t the kind of guy who went for committed relationships anyways. The little gestures Aiden was reading into, those could be anything. Getting his hopes up was setting himself up for failure.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Jordi repeated, beard tickling at Aiden’s skin. “I’m clean at least, and I _know_ you’re not fucking anyone else.”

 _That_ stung. Aiden thumped a hand against Jordi’s shoulder, then rolled his eyes at the snicker it earned him. “Alright, off. I want a shower and a smoke, in that order. And you’re _heavy_ Jordi, have you thought about laying off the pizza?”

“I don’t need to take this kind of shit from you, mister ‘I haven’t eaten anything other than Quinkies in the last four months’.” Despite his grumbling, Jordi pushed himself up and off, popping his back as he stood. Aiden made a face at the mess on his stomach, then rolled off the bed and started back towards the bathroom.

It was as opulent as he expected, multiple sinks and a tub massive enough to fit both of them. Aiden had to hunt a little to find the toilet, but since the shower was big enough to fuck in too, he figured that was a fair trade off. Jordi’s soaps were already scattered across the first sink and a few in the shower, though there weren’t as many as Aiden remembered from the last time they’d met up. Maybe he was running low. Idly, he wondered where Jordi even _found_ those—they weren’t in any of the supermarkets or convenience stores Aiden usually visited.

It wasn’t that he’d been _looking_ for them, it was just that they had very distinctive packaging.

Behind him, Jordi started up the shower and gave him an absent-minded swat on the thigh. He’d had enough forewarning that he didn’t jump, but Aiden gave Jordi a dirty look in the mirror anyways. It went ignored. Typical.

“When are we going after your guy, anyways?” he asked, pushing away from the sink. Jordi was blocking the entrance to the shower while he waited for it to heat up, so Aiden wrapped his arms around him from behind and dug his chin into Jordi’s shoulder—payback, for all the times Jordi had done it to _him_. It earned him a surprisingly gentle elbow to the side, but not enough of one to make him let go.

“I’m _not_ talking about work when I’ve still got your spunk all over my stomach _and_ my back now too,” Jordi said, testing the water again.

“Charming.”

“Fuck off, I mean it. I’m not talking business until we’re both wet and naked and touching each other all over. Two out of three isn’t enough. Grab my bodywash, will you?” Aiden snorted but pulled away, inspecting the mostly empty bottles for the right one.

By the time he _found_ the right one, Jordi was in the shower and rinsing off. Aiden shut the door behind himself, basking in the surge of steam for a few seconds before passing the bottle over. Jordi grabbed his wrist and dragged him under the spray, giving him a long kiss before stepping out to start soaping himself up.

“Are we wet and naked enough yet?” Aiden dragged his fingers through his hair, tipping his head back as the hot water rinsed over him. The last time he’d tried to use his own soap while staying in one of Jordi’s hotel rooms, he’d lost it. For now, he’d just use whatever fancy shit Jordi insisted on.

“Still two out of three. You’re not touching _me_ , now are you?” Jordi grinned at him, skating his fingers down his own chest and smearing bubbles over his muscles. It was absolutely infuriating that it worked as a distraction.

His eyes narrowed, then Aiden stepped out from under the spray and grabbed the bottle of body wash. Jordi was watching him with interest and sucked his breath through his teeth in surprise when Aiden went down on his knees in front of him and started lazily soaping up his calves. Two could play at that game.

“So,” Aiden said, a smirk on his lips, “you were saying?”

“Weeeell, now that you’re _listening_ …” Jordi dragged the words out, then buried his fingers in Aiden’s hair. He tugged just hard enough to sting and grinned at the expression Aiden gave him. “His name’s Davide de Luca, some kind of internet celeb, and he’s been a pain in my _ass_. Seriously, he never stays in the same place long enough for me to catch up, it’s ridiculous.”

His hands skated up the backs of Jordi’s thighs, palms pressing into the firm muscle there. It was a shame that neither of them was up for a second round so quickly, because he had a hell of a view. “Sounds frustrating.”

“You have _no_ fucking idea. I tried tracking him by his videos at first, but the motherfucker has them on a delay, and half his party announcements were ninja gigs five hours away from me—by the time I got there, he was dust in the wind.” The hand in his hair was petting now, thumb rubbing idly over the shell of one ear as Aiden pressed his face into Jordi’s hip, trying to avoid the drifts of suds on his stomach.

“But you’ve got a lock on him now?” he said, wrinkling his nose when soap managed to get in his mouth despite his best effort.

“I’ve got a lock on him,” Jordi said, scratching at the back of Aiden’s scalp for a second. “He’s going to be at a party in five days, an RSVP, miss-it-and-ruin-your-reputation kind of event. Fancy. So I know where he’s going to be _ahead_ of time now, and I can actually set this up pretty instead of blowing up his fucking plane.”

Aiden barked out a laugh, then leaned back to spit more soap out of his mouth. Jordi took pity on him and shuffled back under the spray, holding his hands out to help Aiden to his feet. Once he was upright again, he leaned into Jordi’s chest, one hand braced on Jordi’s hip.

“Were you really going to blow up a plane?” he asked, obediently tipping his head forward when Jordi pushed and closing his eyes as he felt the other man start working shampoo into his hair.

“I was getting pretty goddamn close. I swear, the guy sleeps less than you do. But that’s our timeframe: five days, fancy party. I might need you do some digging for me, but I’ve got most of this wrapped up—it’s just been _catching_ the fucker that’s been the problem. Rinse.”

He shifted under the spray, letting Jordi guide him, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter as the hot water and shampoo ran out of his hair. It was some of Jordi’s still, and it smelled like him, rich and slightly sweet. He wondered if it was another nearly empty bottle.

“So that’s five days of sweet fucking nothing for us to have fun with. And I’ve got this hotel booked for another week and a half after that. There’s a shitload of things to do here, so it’s not like we’re going to run out of entertainment before we run out of time.” Jordi finally stopped carding his fingers through Aiden’s hair and slid his hands down the muscles in his back, hands finally coming to rest at Aiden’s hips. At this angle, it was all too easy to lean in a little further and press his face into Jordi’s shoulder, the hot water pounding into the back of his neck and shoulders.

The bodywash Jordi used had that same rich-sweet smell, all the more evident because he’d just rinsed it off. It was different from the one he’d used last time, Aiden was nearly positive of that. He let his lips part, inhaled slowly, then gently bit down on the skin at Jordi’s neck, tasting honey instead of soap this time.

“You’re so fucking _rowdy_ tonight,” Jordi said, but he didn’t sound unhappy about it.

“Only for you,” Aiden hummed in response, lips tracing a line up Jordi’s neck until he found his jaw. It didn’t take long for Jordi to turn his head and kiss him, soft and slow, neither of them paying much heed to the spray washing over them.

He didn’t know how long they stood there kissing. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours, though that wasn’t likely. Eventually, Jordi squeezed his ass and broke away, reaching past him to turn the water off; given that both of them were starting to prune by that point, it was probably for the best.

The towels were soft, plush, and entirely too comfortable. Aiden considered actually getting dressed, but the air outside was warm, the air conditioner wasn’t on too high, and Jordi showed no intentions of putting underwear on. More than likely, they’d end up naked and tangled together on the bed again anyways, so he just wrapped the towel around his waist, stopped in the living room long enough to grab the cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket where it was slung over the back of a chair, then headed for the balcony.

He left the sliding door open a crack as he stepped out into the dry desert air and lit a cigarette, resting his elbows against the railing as he stared out into the sea of lights. The traffic had been something of a mess coming in, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. And there was an unnamable comfort to be found in looking at a city from this high up; it wasn’t a rooftop, and he hadn’t climbed here the hard way, but Aiden couldn’t help the slow curl of satisfaction in his gut. Too hot and too dry to be Chicago, but it felt like home all the same.

From behind him, the sound of the television came as Jordi found whatever channel he’d been looking for. Two weeks together, give or take, and only the one job—two, if Aiden counted his mark—to deal with. No distractions.

He took a drag on his cigarette and let himself imagine the possibilities.

 


	2. vital capacity_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be about four thousand words shorter but apparently that wasn't happening. Also school is kicking my ass, so expect most updates to come at about this rate.

**April 12th, 2017, 09:23**

 

There hadn’t been anything in the fridge when he’d gotten up in the morning, but Aiden wasn’t too put off by that. He figured they’d stock it up with leftovers soon enough and just made himself a coffee to tide him over with his morning cigarette; he’d woken up early enough to watch the sun rise, but Jordi slept late whenever given the opportunity. Given that this was technically supposed to be a vacation, Aiden even _let_ him this time.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much for him to do. He had a trace on his own target already—the man’s cybersecurity was laughably absent, and it had been almost too easy to stick a tracker on his phone. The security detail he had was a little tougher, but Aiden didn’t need to keep tabs on all of them. Once he had access to their communications network, all he needed to do was check in every couple of hours to see if the shift had changed.

Double-checking his own security measures ate up another half-hour, but by the time he’d gotten started on his fourth cigarette, Aiden had to admit it: he was bored. Downtime wasn’t nearly as appealing when it meant that he couldn’t do anything, and Jordi had been vague enough about his vacationing plans that he hadn’t felt comfortable just heading downstairs to gamble.

It’d be his luck to have a winning streak right when Jordi woke up and started demanding attention.

He poked around on the resort site, then some of the bigger tourist sites, just to do something with his time. There were shows (would Jordi even be able to keep his attention on the stage long enough to justify the price?) and a few different clubs that merited some interest (though, admittedly, mostly because Aiden knew the kind of people who visited them; he might not be the Vigilante anymore, but the habit died hard) but nothing that really caught his eye. It was almost funny—there were so many sights to see and so many things to do that absolutely _none_ of it stood out.

That was Vegas for you, though. So much glitz and glamour you’d go blind before you could see any of it. At least he could see the humor in it.

By the time he heard Jordi start waking up, he’d been close to heading downstairs anyways, possible plans be damned. Aiden started a second pot of coffee, just to be nice, then swung out to the balcony to wait. Jordi could take anywhere from five minutes to half an hour to get ready, depending on how much of his morning routine he was engaging in. Either way, there’d be time for a smoke.

Ten minutes later, he heard the door slide open behind him. Aiden didn’t look up from his phone, earning himself an annoyed noise when Jordi noticed and came up behind him. The hand on the back of his neck felt good, even though he could already feel the desert heat beginning to rise.

“Jesus, do you ever look away from that thing?” Jordi asked, leaning into him more heavily.

“Only when there’s something worth looking at.” Despite his words, Aiden locked his phone and tucked it away. Playing hard to get was liable to put Jordi in a mood, and he’d been starving for something to do for the last couple hours _anyways_.

“Jackass.” Jordi gave him a quick kiss, just the barest brush of lips against his own, then hooked his fingers in the back of Aiden’s shirt and started tugging him towards the door. “Come on, I ordered some groceries to be delivered, but I’m almost out of bath stuff. There’s a Posh maybe twenty, thirty minute walk away and we can get donuts while we’re over there.”

“A what?” Aiden followed, blinking in confusion as he shut the sliding door behind himself. He was trying to figure out if that was a sarcastic aside about supermarkets when Jordi tossed him his wallet.

“It’s a boutique. You’ll see. Oh, and if the guys selling timeshares make eye contact, just fucking run—you’ll never escape otherwise.” Jordi stood at the door impatiently, like _Aiden_ was the one who’d slept in late. A contrary part of him wanted to linger, just to make a point, but Aiden squashed it and stepped around Jordi into the hall, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He felt naked in just his sweater and jeans, but he supposed it wasn’t going to be a long trip. Jordi had that antsy, electric energy that said he had a _plan_ ; the fact that he hadn’t let Aiden in on it yet meant that plan probably involved the cuffs strapped to their mattress, or some other depraved nonsense that only Jordi’s brain could come up with.

His thoughts touched on the flogger, then shied away. He hadn’t said ‘yes’, so Jordi would take it as a ‘no’ for now. Hopefully.

The trip out to the casino proper was easy enough, with only a couple other people traveling in the cavernous hallways of the resort towers, but once they stepped into the crush heading towards the casino floor, everything changed. There were people _everywhere_ , masses and masses of them, more than ought to exist in any one place at any one time. It didn’t matter that the ceilings soared well above them or that the hallways were large enough to fit five cars side-by-side—every inch of the place was packed with people, enough to make any sane person claustrophobic.

Jordi’s dove-grey suit was distinct enough from the crowd of tourists that Aiden had no problem tracking him. The fact that there were plenty of people who would cut between them if he gave them even an inch made him wrap an arm around Jordi’s waist the first chance he got. Just because he _could_ find Jordi in a crowd didn’t mean he _wanted_ to.

He could feel one of Jordi’s pistols digging into the muscle of his forearm, but the arm around his own shoulders went a long way to mitigating that small discomfort.

“It’ll clear up once we hit the walkway,” Jordi said, steering them both through a group of tourists wearing matching shirts.

“Mm,” Aiden agreed, fingers itching to pull his phone out. Not that he’d get anything useful from it—with so many people moving at such a pace, his profiler would be seizing in the attempt to match up the bits of information from ctOS. He’d have better luck on the casino floor, where people tended to be more… stationary.

They broke apart long enough to scale the escalators out, Aiden shoving his hands into his pockets to keep himself for reaching out to Jordi again. He was getting his bearings now, adjusting to the crowds a little more easily. Honestly, he should have expected it—god knew that Vegas wasn’t an unpopular place to visit—but there was a difference between knowing and _knowing_ that.

Jordi slipped a hand into his back pocket as they stepped out into brilliant sunlight. Aiden let himself lean into the touch, even if he didn’t need it.

Thankfully, they seemed to be well out of the age range that was expected to enjoy the clubs being advertised by half a dozen twenty-somethings with stacks of business cards. Not everyone else was so lucky, but Aiden could feel a stirring of sympathy for the promoters—he had a feeling that they were paid on volume. It wasn’t enough sympathy for him to meet the eyes of any of the ones they passed though, and it was a relief once they’d moved into the darkness again.

They made their way through two more themed casinos before Jordi pulled him off to the side in a food court of all things. Aiden glanced around at the offerings, then spotted the proverbial donut shop; Jordi was well ahead of him, already at the counter and inspecting the donuts in front of him like it was a matter of life and death.

After a moment, he pulled out his phone and glanced down. As disorienting as the first crowd had been, he’d gotten a decent enough lay of the land. By his estimation, they were about halfway to the last resort in this cluster, and the newest one of the six in this group. Either Jordi’s ‘Posh’ was going to show up somewhere in the next casino, or they were headed for the miniature mall between the two. Since Jordi was still deeply involved in picking out his half-dozen donuts, Aiden did a quick nudle search, just to see what kind of mess he was about to get into.

The online storefront wasn’t helpful in the slightest. The best he could figure was that the company was one of those hipster ethical capitalism types, which struck him as an incredibly _out of character_ place for Jordi to shop at. He’d been expecting something more… efficient, maybe. Elegant. High class, if high class was the kind of thing Jordi cared about. The black packaging hadn’t really given him a reason to think otherwise.

He looked up and squinted at Jordi’s back, the lines of his suit jacket resting easy over the muscles Aiden _knew_ were underneath it. Definitely not a hipster.

Jordi turned and caught him staring, but all he did was jerk his head towards a table and cart the box of donuts over there. Once they were both seated, Jordi lifted a jelly donut critically, then said, “Like what you see?”

“Just trying to figure out what a guy like you is doing shopping at a place that markets itself on ecofriendly consumerism.” There were two chocolate glazed with sprinkles, which meant Aiden felt justified in taking one of them. If Jordi didn’t want him stealing donuts, he shouldn’t have picked them all out alone.

“Damn, and here I was hoping to make it a surprise. We’d get there, and I’d whip out my piercing needles and tattoo gun, give you an undercut, the whole nine.” Jordi grinned, then nudged Aiden’s leg under the table. “Seriously though, it’s good soaps. You travel as much as I do and you get goddamn tired of hotel toiletries. I usually have just the little bottles, but if I’m overnighting someplace for a week, I pick up some shit fresh. _You_ get to come with me this time.”

“I’m overjoyed,” Aiden said dryly. He stole a creme donut as well, for good measure.

“Might stop by a couple other places while we’re in there, but nothing major. I wanna be back at the room in time for my goddamn groceries—if I’ve got the chance to sit you down and make you eat something halfway decent, I’m going to take it.”

“You’ve got a weird relationship with food, Jordi.” The last donut was devil’s food cake. He nudged the box back towards Jordi and got a look for it, but Jordi ate it without any other complaint.

“No, _you_ have a weird relationship with garbage and shoving it in your body at every opportunity. Are you going to be one of those fuckers that walks around with the giant frozen margaritas?” Jordi asked, piling garbage in the now empty box. He pushed away from the table and headed to a trash can; after a moment, Aiden stood as well, heading to the counter to buy a couple of coffees. ‘Twenty or thirty minutes’ was rapidly turning into a lie.

The question of his alcohol choices was dropped once Jordi came back. He made a faintly pleased noise at the latte Aiden handed him, then started off once more.

The further they went, the more the crowds lightened up. The slot machines were someplace a little less in the way now, and Aiden could actually breathe again. Jordi had him up close to a wall, but Aiden didn’t object—especially once he spotted a less aware tourist get pounced on by a timeshare salesman.

There was something to be said about the level of distraction Vegas provided. So many people were barely paying attention to their own feet, much less everything around them. His fingers itched to grab his phone again, but this time Aiden wanted to sweep through the crowds and siphon off all the accessible bank accounts. Even if some people had protections on their phone, it wouldn’t register in the ocean of easy money.

Damien had said once that they were modern day magicians; Aiden wondered, for once without bitterness, what he would have thought of _this_.

Jordi was humming softly under his breath, carrying the tune of whatever was playing on the casino radio. The music was barely audible, but that didn’t seem to be stopping him. Aiden made a promise to himself to carry his phone on the way back, now that he knew the route—if Jordi could do it without thinking, _Aiden_ certainly wasn’t about to get lost.

If the crowds had been sparse on their way through the pyramid, then the mall was empty as a graveyard. He spotted a couple people on the first floor a couple hundred feet away, but otherwise the corridor was empty. Between the white marble floors, the air conditioning, and the bright lighting, it was almost like walking into a Hollywood version of heaven.

He was hit with the same claustrophobia he’d felt looking out over the crowds in their casino. How many people checked into their hotel rooms and then never stepped outside again? How many people wasted their lives away, bouncing from the bar to the slot machines, never bothering to look up again? Since the moment they’d walked up to the donut stand, they’d been inside, no need to step out again with everything at their fingertips. It didn’t matter how high the ceilings were if they were still trapped.

“Ah, perfect, it _is_ where I remember it,” Jordi said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself as he changed course towards the empty Posh store. Aiden shook off the edges of his odd mood and followed, eyeing the wicker baskets full of unlabeled products with some concern.

The saleswomen did have piercings and undercuts. He didn’t let himself laugh.

It… was about the sort of place he’d expected from the website. Half the labels had ingredient lists so small that Aiden could barely read them, and some of them took detective work to see which products they applied to. The wall full of bath bombs was the worst offender, basket after basket of colorful balls with very little to tell him what the fuck they _did_.

The boho-chic aesthetic was utterly at odds with Jordi’s personality, but the baffling array of choices, none of which were explained or elaborated on? Yeah, that was Jordi all over. Aiden had the sneaking suspicion that half the reason Jordi had brought him here was just to see him confused by the sheer level of whatever the hell kind of luxury this was.

At least he was playing distraction for the cheerful saleswomen too. They were in an animated discussion with Jordi over confiscated salt scrubs at airport security, leaving Aiden with plenty of time to poke around everything else. He didn’t know what a salt scrub was for—frankly, it sounded painful, but most beauty regimes did—but he didn’t care enough to eavesdrop either. It just meant he could explore the vivid shower gels on his own.

No wonder he hadn’t been able to find anything like them on his own trips to the drugstore. Specialty shit like this was expensive enough that he doubted it was sold anywhere but online and the too-trendy little retail stores like this one.

Was it worth it, to buy one of the overpriced shower gels just to have something to remember Jordi with when they separated? Tempting, sure, and Aiden could afford it, but he was stuck in a limbo of emotion, embarrassment at his over-attachment to this casual thing warring with his desire to have _something_ other than the occasional phone call to tide him over between visits. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he’d know where to get a replacement when his sentimental bottle was empty—it wasn’t like he stayed in one place long enough to risk online ordering.

His other option was stealing a shirt, but at that point he’d have to start answering questions about it, and the last thing he wanted was Jordi seeing right through him. _Casual_ , he reminded himself, turning back towards the bath bombs. At least those weren’t tempting in the slightest.

Which meant that they were the ones Jordi wanted him to have an opinion on, because that was the direction his life had turned these days.

“Sniff these and pick two,” Jordi ordered, handing him a basket full of the things. It was about a third of the store’s stock; apparently, he’d already preselected for ones _he_ could stand.

A sizable chunk of them came in fruity, floral scents that Aiden rejected outright. A few of the others had barely any scent at all, as far as he could tell—maybe he just wasn’t tuned right for the… herbal whatevers going into the mix. Of the four he could smell and stand to have near him, he picked two at random, one a mix of bright colors and the other a much more subdued white and blue.

Jordi made an approving noise that at his choices that Aiden couldn’t interpret, then stole the basket away from him to return the rest. All but two. Aiden couldn’t see the logic behind the ones Jordi chose to keep, but four baths in a fortnight seemed a little excessive.

On the other hand, it was a not-quite-vacation, and he supposed that was the point of pampering.

It didn’t take long for them to check out, Jordi still chattering away with the saleswomen as they rung up his collection. Aiden nearly choked at the total the register spit out, but it wasn’t like it was _his_ money. And this was something he was perfectly willing to put his foot down over—like hell would Jordi manage to play it off as something Aiden owed him for. _He_ was the one that wanted ridiculous fancy soaps, _he_ could eat the cost.

“They had a bigger selection than I thought,” Jordi said as they left, still looking pleased with himself.

“I don’t even want to know what half of that was,” Aiden muttered as he pulled out his phone; the bath luxuries were spread between two bags, one in Jordi’s off hand and one hooked over Aiden’s elbow. Both of them had a hand free just in case. Never paid to be careless.

“Pearce, you shower with hand soap and don’t give a shit about the consequences. The fact that you don’t know what a healthy amount of self-love is does not surprise me in the slightest.”

“You know, I think there’s a few people that would say you could do with loving yourself a _little_ less, Jordi.” He rolled his eyes and flicked his thumb over the screen of his phone, siphoning a couple hundred dollars out of the bank accounts of a couple coming up the escalators opposite to them.

“Yeah, and my therapist would say you could do with loving yourself _more_. My guy’s licensed. I win.” Jordi smirked at him, then started back towards their room. Since he didn’t feel like getting into an argument over that—especially since he knew Jordi wouldn’t admit it when he lost—Aiden shook his head and followed without saying anything, keeping himself busy with his profiler instead.

He made close to seven thousand dollars on the way back to the resort, stealing minuscule amounts from the groups they passed. Jordi bought another dozen donuts.

Once they were safely back upstairs at the hotel, he held the door open for Jordi then sighed with relief at the solitude of their room. The crowds had been less overwhelming on the way back, but it was still an uncomfortable crush of bodies; at least the card tables had been less crowded than the slot machines. It gave him an idea for how to gamble next time Jordi slept in without subjecting himself to the horde alone.

Jordi took the Posh bag from him and headed off to the bathroom, whistling some nameless tune that Aiden recognized but couldn’t place. From a movie maybe? At least one of them had enjoyed the trip, though Jordi’s mercurial moods meant that it wasn’t a guarantee that their next trip down would be the same.

He stepped out on the balcony and pulled out a cigarette, leaning against the railing and considering the city in the light of day. It looked about as dry and busy as it had earlier this morning; without the lights Vegas was almost a little drab. Faintly, he heard the front door open and shut, then nothing—Jordi’s grocery delivery probably. For a moment, he considered the possibility of another fixer finding them, but if it was someone smart enough to break into a hotel room, they were smart enough to scope in on him from another rooftop. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide.

A hand slid over his hip and under his shirt, palm flattening across his stomach as Jordi came up behind him. Not for the first time, Aiden considered how nasty the fall would be from this height. He didn’t expect it to ever be an issue, but… there was that saying about ‘third time’s the charm’.

“So now that we’ve get our food in, what do you wanna do?” Jordi asked, leaning heavily against Aiden’s back and tickling his neck with his beard. “Because I _really_ don’t have any plans yet. Maybe we’ll catch a show. I’d say we should go clubbing, but you’ve got shit taste in clothes, so I’d want to get you a shirt _at least_ before I dared to be trendy with you.”

Aiden snorted, then turned his head to blow smoke away from Jordi’s face. “I’ve thought about going back to the floor and trying to make some money. Might even get a room upgrade, you never know.”

“Wouldn’t have figured you for a slots kind of guy.” The hand on his stomach was moving idly, thumb tracing the line of hair that trailed up his chest.

“I’m not. The card tables don’t look half as crowded though, and I’m willing to risk it playing some poker.”

Jordi snorted, grinding his chin into Aiden’s shoulder, and Aiden narrowed his eyes. He’d take the jabs at his clothes, because they were standard fare in their banter at this point and Aiden could be indulgent towards a guy who never wore an outfit that cost less than a thousand dollars, but like hell would he let Jordi mock _everything_ he did. He knew his strengths. Jordi had better well learn them too.

“Something funny about that?” he asked as he flicked his cigarette. “Or are you just sad about the idea of being left alone up here?”

“No, no, really, it’s fine. Just, come on, it’s _Vegas_ , you’re going to be eaten alive. This isn’t a bunch of old guys bumming around in somebody’s basement. But hey, it’s your money, so…” Jordi shrugged, the motion transferring through them both as he pressed a quick kiss to Aiden’s shoulder.

Aiden grunted, then turned his head to meet Jordi’s eyes. “Want to bet on it?”

For once, it looked like he’d caught Jordi off guard. “What?”

“Want to bet on it? If I walk down there and come back with more money than I started with, I win something. If I don’t, _you_ win something. Seems pretty simple to me.” He didn’t let himself smile at the expression on Jordi’s face.

“Jesus, is there something in the water here?” Jordi didn’t wait for an answer, tapping on Aiden’s stomach as he thought out loud. “First of all, we’re setting up some better terms than that. Second, I can’t believe this is the hill you want to die on. Third, I’m not staying up here and waiting for you to come moping back upstairs, so we’re playing with different stakes.”

“Alright. What are your terms?”

“We’re _both_ playing, different tables. First to four hundred wins—I’m not sticking around all day and I want to do _something_ other than watch you lose over and over again. You’ve got a shit poker face. Winner picks what we’re doing this evening, dinner, sex, movie, whatever. Deal?”

Aiden narrowed his eyes, fighting back the triumphant grin that wanted to show. Hook, line, and sinker. “Deal.”

With a groan, Jordi pushed himself up and away, giving Aiden a final pat as he headed back inside. He obviously wanted to get this over with, competitive streak aside, and Aiden had no intentions of holding them up. After putting his cigarette out and dropping it in the water bottle he’d commandeered to play ashtray, Aiden followed him in.

“I just want you to know,” Jordi said as they stepped into the elevator, “that I take no pleasure in the asskicking I’m about to give you. Well, that’s a lie, I take a _little_ pleasure in it, but we could be doing something else.”

“I’ll keep it in mind and try not to get my feelings hurt too badly,” Aiden said.

Four hours later, Jordi was sulking across from him at a table in one of the casino restaurants. He wasn’t being _obvious_ about it, his face set in a carefully neutral expression as he scanned his menu, but Aiden could tell. He’d seen it the moment he’d tapped Jordi on the shoulder and told him he was ready to head back up whenever Jordi was.

Jordi hadn’t asked him for proof. He was an arrogant ass, but he could tell when he’d been beat.

“This is what I get for letting you play low-stakes games against tourists,” he complained as he set his menu down, leaning back and scanning the restaurant for a waitress. Apparently, the dam had finally broken.

“You brought it on yourself.” Aiden wasn’t hiding his grin anymore. Outplaying Jordi _twice_ was doing wonderful things for his ego. Maybe Jordi _had_ been right, and Aiden had needed to practice a little self-love. He was certainly feeling it right now.

They both went quiet as their waitress came over and took their orders, and moments later he had a beer to keep his hands occupied. At least the service was worth the upcharge on the menu prices.

“I can’t believe I fell for that. You were acting all insulted and shit, I figured I was a _shoe-in_ for this. You fucking shark.” Jordi had opted for tequila, apparently. The ignominy of being beaten at his own game must have gotten to him.

“Damn straight,” Aiden agreed, leaning forward across the table and clinking his glass against Jordi’s. “So, this means I get to call the shots tonight, right?”

“Asshole. I had a _plan_ for this, you know. Five steps, it was going to be fucking incredible and you were going to have a come-to-Jesus moment midway through. I was going to change your goddamn life, Aiden.” Jordi gestured broadly, then jabbed a finger into Aiden’s chest. “You’re going to have to be pretty goddamn clever to top it.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Aiden grinned wider, then took a long sip of his beer to hide the fact that he was thinking.

In all honesty, he hadn’t really cared about the reward Jordi was setting up for himself. The satisfaction of beating him—and proving him wrong at the same time—had been pretty much the only thing he was aiming for. Despite Jordi’s many, _many_ irritating habits, he did have a tendency to plan things Aiden enjoyed, so he didn’t really want to disrupt that.

And yet, handing the reins back so soon felt… unsatisfying.

He’d have to play this by ear, then. Fine. He was good at improvisation, and if a day out with Jordi wasn’t _exactly_ the same as a gunfight, it was close enough. And it _would_ be a day out—if he suggested they stay in and head back up, Jordi would take it as him admitting defeat. Aiden wasn’t about to let that happen.

Jordi’s free hand was resting on his thigh under the table, thumb idly running up and down the seam of Aiden’s jeans. For now, he seemed content to sip at his drink and let Aiden plan—maybe he was still sulking about his bad run of hands at the tables.

Dinner, that was a given, and there were plenty of restaurants around, even if they had been in the opposite direction of the Posh. With five other casinos within walking distance, there was bound to be someplace else to eat that both of them would enjoy. Hopefully he wouldn’t end up running afoul of Jordi’s planned meals.

He wasn’t about to see a movie, and he doubted Jordi would be willing to play some more rounds in the casino, so that left them at loose ends after they finished eating. There were _some_ shows, and they could probably get tickets, but… Aiden wondered, abruptly, if he was bankrolling this afternoon out too. Knowing Jordi? Probably.

It was only just starting to edge past noon, too, and with them eating lunch now, he couldn’t use an early dinner as a way to escape. Jordi’s fingers were drumming against his leg, that constant, manic energy in him looking for an outlet. Yeah, he’d have to figure out something for them to do, because otherwise Jordi was going to take command again—and gloat about it, knowing him.

“There’s a pool here, right?” Aiden asked, before Jordi could open his mouth and tell him he was taking too long.

That bought him a couple seconds. Jordi stared at him like he’d grown two heads, then slowly set his glass of tequila down.

“You,” he said, sounding like he was picking his words carefully, “want to know if there’s a pool. For swimming. Aiden ‘never less than three layers at all times’ Pearce wants to _take his shirt off_ and go swimming.”

Well, he’d been throwing ideas out at random, actually, to gauge how closely Jordi was paying attention, but now Aiden realized he’d made a mistake. Because if he said ‘no’, Jordi would ask what they _were_ doing (he had no idea, yet.) So instead, he said, “Yeah, I was thinking about it. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but…”

“Do you even have a _suit_?” Jordi asked incredulously.

“No, but we could go buy one. You don’t have any swim trunks either. We can wander around and see if any of these stores are worth the price.” At least Jordi seemed as off-balance as Aiden felt right now. They’d _both_ look stupid while buying things.

“You…” Jordi sounded like he was at a loss for words.

“So we’ll finish lunch,” Aiden said, solidifying his plans with some wiggle room in case Jordi put his foot down, “and head out. I know there’s that mall with the Posh, but there’s shops near us too. And once we’re done, we can get dinner before heading back to the room. It’ll be fun.”

He wasn’t as sure about that, but he’d _won_ and Jordi was too flabbergasted to actually protest. On the imaginary scoreboard in his head, Aiden put himself down for _three_ victories today. He didn’t know when he’d get another one.

Jordi looked like he wasn’t sure about it either, but by his own terms, this was Aiden’s day to waste. So instead of protesting, he just shook his head and picked up his drink again.

“I give you two hours,” Jordi said after a moment, squeezing Aiden’s knee and withdrawing his hand from under the table, “before you break.”

“I’m not going to break,” Aiden said firmly, leaning back so their waitress could set the plates in front of them.

Despite his words, by the time they finished lunch and headed to the casino again, Aiden was starting to regret setting out on this course of action. He wasn’t a big fan of shopping in the first place, and now he was doing it with someone who mocked his clothing at every turn. The likelihood of Jordi agreeing with him on fashion was lower than Jordi’s chances of beating him at cards, so he had a feeling that this would be a special kind of torture.

Couple that with the tourist-based prices and the crowds, and Aiden was in a hell of his own making. For at least another two hours.

He couldn’t complain though, not as the one that had committed them both to it. _Jordi_ had no such problem, and his steady stream of whining followed Aiden through the halls as they got closer to the pools—that would be their best bet for the swim trunks, and then he could figure out a better way to waste time.

“I can’t believe you want us to go to gay Sunday,” Jordi said as they stepped into a shop that looked promising.

Aiden stopped halfway through an aisle, turning to stare at him. “Gay _what_?”

“You know, when all the twinks and gym bunnies descend upon the pools to get trashed and wet and probably deaf with how fucking loud they play that shit house music.” Jordi tugged at a set of swim trunks with dissatisfaction, then looked up. A grin broke across his face, slow and sly. “Or, actually, you _didn’t_ know. What, did they not have massive ads for it on the highway or something?”

This diversion was looking like a worse idea with every passing second. Aiden was beginning to regret the stubbornness that kept him here.

“That’s not real.” There was no way that was a real thing. This was another one of Jordi’s jokes. The fact that Jordi usually told jokes about things that actually _happened_ was a minor sticking point, but Aiden refused to believe this was real.

“Oh, it’s super real, and now we’re going. I’m going to prove it to you, and we’re going to get some eyecandy at the same time. It’s gonna be great.” Jordi grinned wider, then pulled a set of trunks down and eyed them critically. “You know all of these are overpriced as shit, right?”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that,” Aiden said, silently cursing himself for this situation he’d created. The return of Jordi’s good mood wasn’t doing anything for _his_ feelings right now. All it spelled was trouble.

“I know we’re going to gay Sunday and all—”

“That’s not a thing and no, we aren’t.”

“—but we don’t actually have to get swim trunks here. We’re going to be heading up north tomorrow to do some recon, so we might as well shop then.” Jordi put his selection back, flicking the price tag dismissively.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one making plans for tonight.” Aiden leaned back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He didn’t like the smile Jordi was wearing, and he really didn’t like the fact that Jordi hadn’t given up on trying to seize control back.

“Oh, yeah, you are. I’m just making helpful suggestions. Like ‘this sucks’ and ‘we should do something else’ and ‘did I mention I had dinner planned already.’ You know. Little things.” Jordi moved into his space, wrapping an arm around Aiden’s waist and tugging him closer. “Come on, do you _really_ want to spend the rest of the afternoon shopping? Really?”

He didn’t. If Aiden were honest with himself, he’d rather be shot again than stay down here in these crowded stores with Jordi sniping at him the whole time. But he wasn’t about to just let Jordi waltz all over him either; if Jordi wanted this afternoon to go his way, maybe he shouldn’t have bet that away. _Aiden_ hadn’t set those terms.

He really, _really_ did not want to spend the afternoon shopping, though.

“Convince me.”

“What?” From the way Jordi blinked, he hadn’t been expecting that.

“You want me to play things your way? Convince me. You know, give me a reason. I _won_ , Jordi, so you’re going to have to try a little harder than ‘because I said so’.” Aiden leaned in closer, pressing up against Jordi’s side and ignoring the looks they were getting. He wasn’t worried about getting jumped in a boutique swim shop. “Maybe start with something better than ‘I have plans’. Just a helpful suggestion.”

Jordi’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to consider the offer anyways. Aiden could see the wheels in his head turning—he hadn’t expected even that much give, which meant he knew he couldn’t expect any more. This time, Jordi had to play by _his_ rules. If for no other reason than the fact that Aiden would absolutely cut his own nose off to spite his face. Or, in this case, to make a point.

“Can I convince you on the way back to the hotel?” Jordi asked, half tugging him towards the door. Aiden considered digging in his heels, but he let Jordi get away with it. It wasn’t like he really wanted to be in this store anyways, and privately he’d already admitted defeat. One to Jordi, but he was still ahead by two.

“You might. Talk fast.” He settled his own arm firmly around Jordi’s shoulders, and allowed himself to be led away. The feel of eyes on them both faded as they left the store, and Aiden felt something in his chest unwind, the paranoia that was his constant companion fading a little.

“I told you I’m making dinner, right? I’m thinking something with the filets I got—got a pack of bacon too, and some gouda, some feta, but I might hold all that in reserve. No bleu cheese, but I get the feeling you’re not into that anyways. A _marinade_ , that’s what I’ll do, I’ve got the shit for that, perfect. So that’s steak, you like squash, right? Of course you do. So, some steamed butternut squash, maybe throw in some zucchini too, bacon-wrapped steak, I’ve got _wine_ … it’s going to be delicious. You’re gonna love it.”

It did sound delicious. Aiden hummed in appreciation, asking, “What kind of wine?”

“I’m thinking a cabernet. I’ve got like five bottles, we’ve got a bunch of things in the fridge because I’m not positive what I want to do, but this is a pretty decent Aussie wine.” Jordi’s hand squeezed his side, teeth flashing white as he grinned.

“I’ll defer to your expertise,” Aiden said, relaxing further into Jordi’s grip.

“You’d better. That’s for later though—we’ve got a whole afternoon in front of us and I’ve got a vision of you spread out on my bed and begging for it.” Jordi’s voice was low, but not so low that Aiden couldn't hear him clearly.

Heat flashed over his skin, though thankfully no one _else_ had overheard. The halls were emptying out as they traveled further from the casino floor and the shops, fewer and fewer people in sight. “Jesus, Jordi.”

“Hey, it’s not like you don’t like it. I want to play with my new toys.” Jordi’s hand traveled across his lower back, then shifted upwards, tracing the line of Aiden’s spine under his clothes. “Maybe pay a little more into your winnings.”

“Is that how you’re spinning it? As a reward?” It was a pretty neat turnaround from ‘sore loser’, Aiden would give him that much.

The hand resting between his shoulders made a slow circle, pressing into the muscles there as Jordi snickered and aimed them towards the elevators. “Is it working?”

Last chance to pull out and take the reins back, stopping Jordi in his move to take control of the situation. But he’d made his point, and Jordi was at least trying to be persuasive… in his own, Jordi way. There wasn’t any reason to make them both miserable for a few hours longer.

“It might be working.” Aiden gave Jordi a wry smile of his own, then stepped into the elevator and hit the button for their floor. The hand on his back disappeared for a few seconds, then came back to curl over the nape of his neck, Jordi’s fingers lightly teasing at ends of his hair.

“Told you, you wouldn’t last more than two hours,” Jordi said smugly.

“We can always go back down again,” Aiden shot back, his smile widening at the affronted noise Jordi made. He didn’t protest when Jordi dragged him out of the elevator, unlocking their suite with his phone as they got close.

Jordi’s hand was steady on the back of his neck as he steered Aiden through the front area and into the bedroom, giving him a final push before shutting the bedroom door behind them. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to walk into their room and see something, but the finality of that door shutting sent a shiver up Aiden’s spine anyways. That was a _message_.

“I want your clothes off by the time I get back,” he said before disappearing into the bathroom. Aiden could see him hunting around in the closet in there, looking for something—and it occurred to him that Jordi’s last-minute sex toy run probably wasn’t his _only_ one. He’d said toys, plural.

Whatever Jordi was looking for, it didn’t leave Aiden with much time. He was just pulling his socks off when Jordi walked back into the room, the rest of his clothes in an untidy pile by the foot of the bed. It was a weird feeling, being naked while Jordi was fully dressed, and Aiden wasn’t quite sure he liked the vulnerability of it.

“What, not going to take your jacket off?” he asked, goosebumps flashing across his skin at the look Jordi gave him. “Taking that as a ‘no.’”

“Yeah, that’s a no,” Jordi said, stepping closer. His hands skated down Aiden’s sides, palms rough with calluses where they settled on his hips. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, hair and warm skin peeking out from under the fabric, his stupid necklace gleaming faintly in the dim room.

Aiden swallowed, then looked back up to Jordi’s face. This, like the way he’d shut the door, was a message too.

“You know, you should try waxing sometime,” Jordi said, tracing the lines of Aiden’s muscles as he dragged his hands back up his chest. “It would make my life _much_ easier. I want you on the bed, facedown. We’re going to have fun with this.”

“I worry when you say it like that,” Aiden muttered, only moving once Jordi pulled his hands away. Despite his objections, he climbed on the bed, getting comfortable with his arms under his head.

Jordi clicked his tongue in disapproval but didn’t say what Aiden had done to earn it. Instead, he grabbed an ankle, giving Aiden a moment to relax before tugging it to the side and buckling a cuff around it.

_Oh_.

The second ankle was cuffed too, then Jordi came around the side of the bed, holding a hand out imperiously. Aiden hesitated, then offered a wrist, watching Jordi’s deft movements as he tightened the strap. Once he was completely tied down, he tested the strength of the cuffs. Maybe an inch of give at the furthest end, not much more.

“What’s your safeword?” Jordi asked, hand warm around Aiden’s calf as he circled around the foot of the bed.

“Red for stop, yellow for check-in, green for go,” Aiden said, taking a deep breath as he pressed his forehead into the pillows. Clean cotton and the scent of Jordi’s shampoo. His heart was going a mile a minute and Jordi hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. At least, nothing other than tying him down more thoroughly than he ever had before.

“Perfect. Probably should have put a towel down before I had you on the bed, but whatever, I can work with this. Not like you’ll be moving much anyways.” Jordi gave his leg a squeeze, then pulled away and headed back into the bathroom.

A spark of alarm shot through him—what the hell was Jordi doing that would need towels? He agonized over whether he should ask or not; if Jordi wanted him to know, he would have told him, but Aiden was pretty sure that if he safeworded first, he’d get some honesty. But if the surprise was supposed to be half the fun…

He swore silently at himself, then turned his head to see as best as he could around his own arm. For once, Aiden regretted having as much muscle as he did. He might be able to catch a glimpse, but he wouldn’t see enough to give him much forewarning.

It didn’t help that in the dark, diffused lighting of the room, Jordi practically blended into the walls in his suit. He had to rely on the changes in the shadows as Jordi moved around in the bathroom, his body occasionally blocking out some of the harsher light from the bulbs over the mirrors.

There was a click as Jordi flipped the switch, and then he didn’t even have that. Aiden sucked in a sharp breath, catching a glimpse of movement as Jordi walked around the bed, and tried not to think about the fact that he couldn’t move. Couldn’t even see what Jordi was doing, but without the comforting certainty of a blindfold. Could barely hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat.

He’d never have let Damien get this far. The thought hit him out of nowhere, Jordi’s hand sliding up his leg and scattering it before Aiden could consider what that meant.

“I could really do with a picture of this, you know,” Jordi said, dragging his palm down again and squeezing the muscle of Aiden’s calf. “I’m not going to take one, but I feel like you should know that I _want_ one. I could make a goddamn calendar out of you, Aiden.”

“ _Jesus_ , Jordi,” he breathed, the way Jordi said his name catching him off guard. Not being able to see was driving him insane, so Aiden shut his eyes and pressed his face harder into the pillow.

“That do it for you or something?” Jordi’s hand squeezed again, then disappeared, leaving him adrift once again. Aiden rolled his wrists, trying to anchor himself with the pressure there, then jolted when he heard Jordi make an approving noise.

“Something, alright,” he said, voice tight. He was hard as a rock, cock trapped between his stomach and the rough fabric of the bedcovers. The small amount of friction he could get wasn’t enough.

“I love how goddamn mouthy you are, you know that? One of these days, I need to gag you with something other than my dick, just to see how it feels. I’m not sure if I’d have fun with it, or if I’d miss your shitty personality.” Jordi’s voice was coming from somewhere behind him, but Aiden couldn’t tell where, exactly. “Deep breaths.”

He sucked in a breath, heartbeat ticking up as tension shivered through his body.

Sudden pain flared over his shoulders, a half dozen points of sharp heat that made him jerk in his bounds. As quickly as the pain had come, it started to fade, the burn dissipating as the heat spread across his back. Before he could adjust, another shock of pain hit his lower back this time.

“ _Fuck!_ ” He yanked at his restraints, unable to stop the way his hips jerked too. With the pain fading again, he could process how the heat was pooling on his skin, building in the dip of his spine. From the weight of it, it was more than just hot oil. Wax?

“Now _there’s_ a pretty picture,” Jordi said, his hand sliding up one of Aiden’s thighs. He felt the mattress dip as Jordi climbed up behind him, the fabric of his slacks brushing against Aiden’s legs as he settled in.

“Jordi, what the—” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, wax spilling over his left shoulder as Jordi’s nails bit into his right hip. Aiden muffled a shout in his pillow, jerking in his restraints again.

“Breathe,” Jordi reminded him, hands sliding up Aiden’s sides and palms grinding into his ribs. He must have set the candle down, though his steadying touch didn’t last nearly long enough.

Aiden breathed, forcing himself to calm down. With a roll of his wrists, he got a tight grip on the straps attached to his cuffs. It wasn’t much, but it helped keep him centered as one of Jordi’s hands settled in the middle of his back.

Lube-slick fingers slid up over his perineum, teasing at his hole as his hips stuttered in surprise. His fingers tightened on the straps as he let out a soft noise, pressing his face harder into the pillow to muffle himself. Jordi’s fingers thrusted deep, stretching him open; his other hand dragged up Aiden’s back, nails biting into his skin and pulling up the wax that had cooled there.

Aiden gasped, then bit down on the pillow as Jordi pulled more of the wax off, leaving faint welts behind on skin that was suddenly more sensitive than before. As the last of the wax came off, Jordi pulled his fingers out, leaving Aiden adrift and shaking.

The sudden feel of Jordi’s cock grinding against him made him moan, wrists jerking in their restraints. He had nothing else to focus on, his entire world narrowing down to Jordi pushing slowly inside of him, one hand keeping his hips in place as if Aiden could move away even if he _wanted_ to.

“God _damn_ , you look good like this,” Jordi said, voice hungry.

When the wax hit his shoulder this time, Aiden tensed up with a gasp. Above him, Jordi let out an answering groan, trailing bright points of pain down his spine. This time there was no respite. Jordi rolled his hips in slow, teasing thrusts as he spilled hot wax across Aiden’s back—in lines over his spine, heavier, more painful splashes on his flanks, a pattern like stars across the shaking planes of his shoulder blades.

He lost track of time like that, breaking under Jordi’s hands again and again. If it wasn’t the wash of fire over his muscles, it was Jordi’s nails raking painful lines down his back, setting off nerve endings that had been pushed to the limit.  He couldn’t think, could barely breathe, and Jordi wasn’t letting up.

“I bet you’d fucking love knifeplay,” Jordi breathed, thrusting harder as another line of fire spilled over Aiden’s shoulder. “I’d try it with you too, but I’m not in the mood to turn my hotel room into a crime scene, _fuck_.”

He couldn’t follow what the words meant, couldn’t do anything more than lift his hips in a desperate plea for more and groan when Jordi gave it to him.

“I could carve you to pieces and you’d _like it_ ,” Jordi said, mouth dangerously close to his ear before finding skin untouched by wax to bite at. Aiden begged wordlessly, the sound of his moans muffled as he rocked harder into the thrusts, his hands yanking at his restraints just for the reminder that he couldn’t do anything but lay there and take it.

Jordi’s hands at his hips, Jordi’s body over his, Jordi’s teeth vicious on the skin at his neck, Jordi’s name on his lips—it was too much, the overstimulation shredding his self-control completely. He made a choked, needy noise, biting the pillow as his knuckles went white around the straps pinning him down, and Aiden shook himself to pieces as he came. Too much, and somehow not enough either, the aching, longing hole in his chest craving Jordi’s touch more than ever.

It took him a second to realize that Jordi had stopped moving, a final shudder traveling through him before his hips stilled completely. His mouth moved restlessly over Aiden’s neck and shoulders, only slowing when Aiden sucked in a sharp breath at the brush of silk on his back.

“Shh,” Jordi crooned, shifting his grip from Aiden’s hip to his right hand and gently prying his fingers from the straps. “You did perfect, you did so fucking well, _damn_ it was like you were made for this. Let go for me, Aiden. Just let go, and I’ll get you undone.”

He let go, hands trembling without anything to hold onto. Jordi’s movements were deft as he undid the cuff around one wrist, then the other, before finally pulling out. Aiden couldn’t help the soft noise of disappointment he made, even as he carefully tucked his hands under his head where the shakes weren’t as obvious.

“Yeah, I know. Let me get your legs, and then I’ll be back, I promise.” Jordi’s voice was still uncharacteristically soft, pulling the cuffs off his ankles just as quickly as the ones around his wrists. Before Aiden could do more than shift his legs, Jordi was back on top of him, hands running up his thighs to the divot at the small of his back. There was wax there still and he shivered as it was peeled off, bit by bit, the skin underneath sensitive and soft.

“Fuck,” Aiden finally managed, muffled by the pillow. He pushed himself up a little, now able to see more than the sheets under his head; there was a towel to his right with a building pile of wax, and Jordi’s clothed legs still firmly between his own. From the feel of it, Jordi hadn’t taken _anything_ off.

“Yeah, we did that,” Jordi said agreeably, smoothing his hands down Aiden’s back once the last of the wax was off. There was a bottle of oil next to the towel, already popped open, and the next time his hands ran up Aiden’s back, they were coated in it.

“Mm. Not worried about your shirt?” With everything still slightly off-kilter, inane conversation felt like the safest way to recenter himself. Not that Aiden was managing that very well, when Jordi’s hands were kneading at the muscles in his back with the same methodical patience that he used behind the scope.

“I figure you’re worth a little dry cleaning.” His heart jolted at that, Jordi’s casual affection that meant more than Aiden could ever let on. “You were fucking _into_ this though, that’s definitely going down on the ‘yes’ list.”

“You keep lists?” He slowly relaxed under Jordi’s hands, pressing his forehead into his arms as his muscles were teased into loose relaxation.

“Uh, obviously. I’ve got your ‘eh’ list, your ‘no’ list, and your ‘yes’ list. Bondage is on the yes list, spanking’s on the no list, and that thing we did with the—”

“ _Yeah_ , I remember that,” Aiden said, cutting Jordi off before he could remember it any more graphically. Not something that had been as upsetting as being hit, but he hadn’t enjoyed it and he hadn’t enjoyed Jordi laughing at him over it either.

“Heh, you would. So, I’m making lists. Doing the, you know that Disney movie, with the carpet, ‘let me show you the world’? You ever see that?” Jordi’s hands were down at his lower back now, roaming over his hips and his ass with the same intent.

Aiden hummed a couple bars of the song in affirmation, eyes shutting as he breathed deep. Not one of Lena’s favorites, or Jacks’s for that matter, but he’d seen it a time or two. The songs tended to stick.

“Goddamnit, I don’t even know why I’m surprised you fucking know that. You can’t tell me the names of any of the characters on Grey’s Anatomy, but you know the songs to Aladdin? Fuck you.” Jordi pinched him, then immediately smoothed away the pain, dragging his hands up the length of Aiden’s back again.

“Not the _words_ , but the melody isn’t too hard,” Aiden said, turning his head so that he could speak more easily.

“What was the last movie you saw that _wasn’t_ a kids’ movie?” Jordi asked, thumbs pressing into the muscles at the back of Aiden’s neck and _pushing_. The sudden release of tension won him a groan as Aiden melted underneath his touch. This wasn’t helping him center himself at _all_ , but the floating bliss was just as good.

“Uh... that one we saw in Tampa, with the superheroes. Last one I saw before that… Tangled? Lena was a bit young for it, but Jacks was still in his princess movie phase.” It was surprising how easily he could talk about them now, when for so long it had felt like losing them—Lena first, then Jacks and Nicky a year later—was never going to stop hurting.

“Ugh, you disappoint me. We going to culture you somehow, I swear. There’s one of those stupid chick flicks showing in a couple months, maybe we can meet up in time for that. Everything on right now is action bullshit trying to get in before the summer rush.” It helped that Jordi clearly didn’t care. No false sympathy or pity, but no real mockery either. Aiden’s family was a nonessential fact about him, something that barely even registered on Jordi’s radar despite the fact that it was the whole reason he’d hired him in the first place.

Strange how that dismissive lack of interest now felt more caring than any of the words of regret he’d ever heard. He groaned as Jordi’s fingers dug into his shoulders, then cracked an eye open as they threaded through his hair.

“Is that a promise?” he asked, knowing he was treading too close to those lines he’d laid out for himself. It wasn’t casual for him, not anymore, but he couldn’t figure out how to pull back, couldn’t figure out how to find his way out of the deep end.

Jordi grinned down at him, dark eyes bright with something Aiden struggled to put a name to. “Oh, you better fucking believe it is. Lay here and… photosynthesize or whatever it is you’re doing right now. I’ve got a dinner to work out and a marinade to make, so you can figure out how your legs work again while I do that. This is going on the ‘yes’ list for sure, you little masochist.”

Aiden snorted and tucked his face back into his arms, shutting his eyes again. It wasn’t like he had any plans anyways, not unless he wanted to head back to the abysmal shopping experience from earlier. A nap wouldn’t kill him, though he hoped Jordi would haul the rest of the sex toys off the bed before they turned in for the night.

Jordi’s lips brushed across the nape of his neck one last time, and then he was gone.


	3. bradycardia_

**April 13th, 2017, 08:42**

 

Aiden hissed as he twisted to get a better look in the mirror. No matter how much it had hurt, the wax hadn’t even left a mark on his skin. Jordi’s nails, on the other hand, were much less forgiving in the morning. He hadn’t broken skin, but more than a few of the welts had ripened into dark bruises, marked up and down his back like so many lashes.

It wasn’t as bad of a mangling as he could have gotten, but it still stung when he pressed down on a bruise experimentally.

“Asshole,” Aiden muttered more fondly than he liked to admit, safe in the knowledge that Jordi was still out cold. He’d laid in bed for almost an hour this morning, just listening to Jordi breathe next to him. His body was readjusting to having someone in the bed with him again, finding sleep more easily and growing reluctant to leave it again—funny how having someone at his back made him feel safe enough to be vulnerable.

All the sentimentality in the world wasn’t going to keep him in bed with the lingering feel of oil and wax on his skin, though.

He flipped the water on, feeling it heat within seconds, then shut the bathroom door. Might as well let Jordi get his beauty sleep. The water was blissfully hot as it hit his shoulders, the welts on his back complaining before Aiden tuned them out entirely. He’d thought about taking a bath but now that he was standing under the pounding water, Aiden figured he’d picked the better option.

Jordi had so many bottles. He recognized one of them, the rich honey-scented soap that Jordi usually brought with him, but he’d never tried any of the others. Aiden wondered how the hell he got half this up onto a plane with the draconian measures in place at security. For that matter, how the hell did he take a _sniper rifle_ with him everywhere? The pistols—pistols plural, Aiden thought a little sourly—he might be able to hide, but that rifle case wasn’t pretending to be anything else.

Did he just walk in, bold as he pleased, and the TSA agents folded in front of him? Aiden contemplated the possibility, then decided to be a bit bolder as well and try one of the more brightly colored soaps. If he hated it, at least the smell wouldn’t linger long, and he could always play it off as something else. Getting into the spirit of things, maybe.

He was nearly positive that Jordi had never used this one. Aiden would’ve remembered him smelling like a fruit smoothie.

The smell didn’t disappear even after he’d rinsed the suds off, and that worried him a little. It would be just like Jordi to set some kind of trap for him, and it would be his luck to fall into it. Aiden stared at his hands with a faint sense of betrayal, leaning further into the spray in the hope that maybe it _would_ rinse off. Eventually. Hopefully before he developed gills.

“That’s a good smell on you,” Jordi said as he opened the shower door, scaring the absolute shit out of him. Aiden jumped and nearly went for his throat before he caught himself. From the look on Jordi’s face, he’d noticed and thought it was _hilarious_.

“A little warning next time?” Aiden asked sourly, moving out of the way.

Jordi grinned at him, then ducked under the spray and shook his head like a dog under a hose. “Hey, not my fault you were daydreaming in here. Seriously though, look at you taking risks and living dangerously. I like it. It’s very _you_.”

“That’s disturbingly sincere coming from you, Jordi.” He leaned back against the shower wall, the cool slate soothing against the bruises on his back. In a lot of ways, it was damned offensive for a man to look that good naked, especially with the way the water ran over Jordi’s muscles, but Aiden wasn’t going to complain about the show.

“I am never anything but one-hundred percent sincere in everything I do. Note my sarcasm.” Jordi flashed him a grin, then tipped his head back to rinse shampoo out of his hair.

Aiden scoffed quietly but didn’t say anything. The urge to touch was rising, a desire to mark Jordi up the way he’d been marked, to make a statement about who he belonged to. Which was stupid, and an instinct that was going to get him killed one day, but it chafed to let Jordi make a point and never return the favor.

He wrapped an arm around Jordi’s middle once his back was turned, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. When that earned him a noise of approval, Aiden did it again, trailing them up Jordi’s neck before finally sinking his teeth into the join between the two. Jordi’s hand curled around his wrist, squeezing as Aiden finally pulled away to eyeball the bruise he’d left behind.

“Feeling better about being a piña colada now?” Jordi asked, amusement and irritation warring in his voice. There was nothing but delight in his eyes when Aiden glanced up, so he ignored the irritation and grinned, kissing the mark.

“Just figured I ought to stake a claim before you get jumped by a geriatric with wandering hands. You said we were headed up north today, right?”

Jordi let out a bark of laughter, then released his wrist. “Dickhead. C’mon, let me finish washing up and we can look at a map or something. I want to stake out the place before I make any solid plans.”

With a final kiss, Aiden pulled away, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. The box of donuts was still untouched, which meant he was spoiled for choice when he opened it. He got coffee started, grabbed himself a donut, and leaned against the counter to wait for Jordi to come rambling out. He’d get dressed once he had a better idea of where they were going; the air conditioning in these casinos was good enough to justify a sweater sometimes, but the heat outside was still a force to be reckoned with.

Jordi’s suit was white today, his shirt a vivid shade of blue that almost hurt to look at. It didn’t tell him anything about the temperatures they’d be facing—Aiden was pretty sure he’d never seen Jordi out of his suit jacket in public—but the shirt was further unbuttoned than usual. That probably meant some walking outside.

“Aw, fuck you. Do you have to steal the creme filled every time?” Jordi huffed, then poured himself a mug of coffee.

“Buy more than one and you might get to eat them instead,” Aiden said, downing the last of his own cup and heading back into the bedroom. He should have a clean button-down that he could roll the sleeves on. It’d do in a pinch.

“Buy your own fucking donuts!” Jordi called after him, though he’d clearly forgiven the slight by the time Aiden came back out.

“Where are we headed?” Aiden peered over Jordi’s shoulder at the map up on the screen of his laptop. Jordi had been planning a route, apparently; he must not usually walk there. Not that Aiden had objections to driving them, but it didn’t seem like he’d be pulling his car out of valet any time soon.

“The Venetian. I figure we can do a little shopping while we’re up there—Gay Sunday is still happening and we need to get you clubbing clothes—but this shindig is going down at the ballroom up there. I want to get a lay of the place before I cart the big guns in.”

The big guns were the ones Jordi couldn’t carry concealed, Aiden assumed, ignoring the comment about shopping. His own pistol was holstered at the small of his back, all its attachments pulled off to make it easier to hide; the tactical baton was tucked underneath it, both of them well-hidden by the folds of his shirt. He might have been willing to go unarmed yesterday, but he didn’t want to get into the habit of it.

“Alright. I’m ready to go when you are—should have ctOS access to the trams, so we can avoid being tracked on those too.” He pushed away from the counter, doing his usual rundown—gun, baton, wallet, phone, cigarettes—before heading to the door. “Let’s go take on the horde, huh?”

“Hey, count yourself lucky, we’re leaving before the crowds get _truly_ fucked,” Jordi said, snickering at the face Aiden made.

True to his word, Aiden hacked the entry point for the trams as they walked through. No attendants. The casino had nothing but faith in its automated systems… or maybe it made enough money elsewhere that a couple of jumpers wouldn’t make a dent in their profit margins.

There were two or three other people waiting on the platform, but not nearly as many as he’d have expected. Going from the crush inside the casino to the wasteland of the tram platform was a shock. It did mean they got a car all to themselves though, and Jordi claimed a seat with an air of triumph.

Aiden wrapped his hand around the hold bar, glancing out the window to scan the skyline. This train tracked behind the done-up fronts of the casinos, passing behind office buildings and over parking garages. Not much to see, and his gaze slowly came back to the interior of the car, where Jordi was leaning against the window and double checking the route on his phone.

He hadn’t done anything to cover the bruise.

A jolt of unexpected heat shot through him, his fingers tightening on the bar as the tram slowed into the next station. Jordi hadn’t covered the mark, not intentionally. His collar rode up high enough that most people wouldn’t be able to see it unless they were looking for it, but Aiden could find it. He wondered if he was reading too much into that, and yet—Jordi was a man who could be _too_ focused on his image. Any deviation from the norm there was noteworthy on him.

He tore his gaze away, going back to watching the drab assortment of buildings that played support to the resorts.

This tram station was tucked up and back behind its associated casino, but Jordi’s path was unerring as he headed down the stairs. Aiden had a rough idea of which direction they were going, but he hadn’t memorized their route. He had a sneaking suspicion that navigating the casino itself would be harder than finding their destination off the street.

This one was older, less polished than their resort and filled with an older clientele. Neither of them stuck out but neither of them fit in either—and ctOS had all sorts of things to say about the people they passed. He idly flicked through profiles as they passed, occasionally stealing from high rollers and noting how many of them were cheating on their wives to be here.

Going from the darkness of the casino to the brilliant sunlight of the street damn near blinded him; Aiden pocketed his phone and squinted, wishing briefly that he’d worn his hat. Jordi’s arm brushed against his as they squeezed into the crowd on the sidewalks, letting themselves be herded along the road with the rest of the tourists. He lit a cigarette and ignored the dirty looks it got him—he didn’t know when he’d get another chance.

Down at the street level, it was easier to see the cracks in the glimmering facade. This wasn’t a bad part of town, not by any means—not with the crowds—but even here he could see the wear and tear. Buildings that needed some work on the outside. Signs that could use a new coat of paint. And in the crowd of people, with the desert sun shining down on them, a rising, dry heat that threatened to suck him dry.

It was a relief when they finally passed into the cool interior of the casino, though the level of opulence on display was off-putting in its own way. Marble floors, marble columns, gilt and oil paintings on the molding and ceilings, more fountains… This was the sort of excessive display of wealth that new money and tourists would love. Mostly tourists, if the flow of the crowd around them was anything to go by.

“Ugly as hell, isn’t it?” Jordi asked cheerfully, heading off. He’d put his phone away, which meant he had his bearings now.

“Glad I’m not the only one that thinks so,” Aiden muttered, following him. It didn’t escape his notice that Jordi fit the ostentatious surroundings better than anyone else they passed. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be appreciated if he pointed that out.

They rambled through the casino for their first pass, a foot or two apart. There were plenty of stores, and he knew he couldn’t avoid going into them forever, but the important thing was the number of employees. Maintenance people, security guards, the retail workers hawking their products—there were a few different routes they could take to exit, but they might be seen either way. The retail section was crawling with shopkeepers, while the casino floor was patrolled by dealers and security.

Cameras were everywhere too, but Aiden wasn’t concerned about those. He’d take care of them when the time came.

Their second pass around, Jordi stopped off to pick up gelato, then leaned against the railing over the fake canal. Aiden leaned back too, wondering idly how a city in the desert managed to pump in enough water for all these different displays.

“Ballroom entrance is back that way,” Jordi said, pointing with his spoon before taking another bite. “Downstairs, with one main stairway and then one emergency stairwell. Security offices are right above.”

“Response time would be pretty fast,” Aiden replied, watching a family of five pass by. Their youngest was gleefully swinging from the hands of her parents, her giggles high enough to be audible over the dull roar of hundreds of shuffling feet.

“Goddamn pain in my ass. I want to make this big and I want to make it public—de Luca’s been pissing me off with the party life, and my client wants to send a message. That means security needs to be dealt with, both the guards inside and the ones coming for backup. This is really good gelato, you want to try some?”

He glanced at the spoon Jordi was holding out to him, then leaned over to take the offered bite. The rich taste of chocolate and raspberries burst on his tongue as he leaned away again, humming quietly in appreciation. Jordi seemed pleased that he’d taken offering, and he shoved another spoonful in his own mouth.

“Distraction could pull the guards away,” Aiden said thoughtfully, rolling the last of the gelato against the roof of his mouth. “Set up some kind of altercation on the opposite side of the casino, maybe hit their system with a series of false flags. It’d give us time to get out.”

“ _There’s_ your thinking brain. I wonder where it goes sometimes, with the stupid shit you pull.” Jordi grinned at the snort Aiden gave him. “So that’s security. What about the crowds?”

“That’s an asset, not a problem,” Aiden said, rubbing a hand over his chin.

“In a suit? Pretty fucking hard to blend in with the khakis and Hawaiian shirts crowd like that, don’t you think?” He offered another bite. Aiden debated with himself for a second before taking it.

“The crowds get better dressed later at night, you know that. And you said it was a big party, right?”

“Huh. Not going to put all my eggs in that basket, but I will take it into consideration. We can hash the details out properly once we get back to the hotel room, I think. We’ll have the floorplans there too.” Jordi dragged his spoon along the bottom of his cup, gathering the last bits of gelato into a final bite. Then he pushed away, tossing the whole thing into the garbage can only a few feet away.

Aiden watched this with rising dread. There was that gleam in Jordi’s eyes, and he’d basically promised to go clothes shopping with him—it was time to make good on that promise. If only because he was pretty sure Jordi could keep pace with him if he ran.

“I saw a place that sells clothes you could actually get away with wearing in a club _and_ a swimshop. Come on, it’s back this way,” Jordi said, hooking an arm over Aiden’s shoulders and steering him down the hall towards the first store.

The price tags he could see were physically painful. It didn’t matter if he _could_ afford it, there was absolutely no reason to spend that much money on a shirt. Not even one made of silk. Not even one made of _angel tears_.

“How come you only wear neutrals?” Jordi asked, picking through a pile of vibrantly colored silk dress shirts. “You could pull off jewel tones pretty well, maybe even some bolds—not pastel I don’t think, you’re not a lilac kind of guy. Something other than brown. Or white. Or _grey_.”

“But black is fine?” Aiden flipped the sleeve of a rejected shirt, wrinkling his nose. Three hundred dollars for an ugly salmon shirt. That was ridiculous.

“You don’t wear black, you wear ugly dark grey with pretensions. And yeah, I’m talking about the fancy peacoat you keep tucked in the bottom of your bag for ‘formal occasions’. It’s grey, not black, and it’s ten years out of date. Time to catch up with the times, old man.”

“Stop calling me that. You’re the one with grey hairs.” He flipped the sleeve back, smirking at the way Jordi scoffed, then eyed the emerald green shirt hanging over Jordi’s arm. “I’m not letting you kit me out.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. I’m getting you this shirt, whether you like it or not—at least your jeans are a _look_ , instead of whatever garbage you’re trying to pull off with your sweaters. I’m still getting you a swimsuit too. You don’t get away that easy, you bastard.” Jordi’s tone was amiable as he headed off to the register. Aiden noticed another shirt underneath the green one, but he let Jordi have it. He had a more important battle to fight.

“We’re not doing Gay Sunday,” he said, hating himself for acknowledging that it was a thing at all. He still refused to look it up and see if it was true.

“We’re doing Gay Sunday and if you keep bitching about it, I’m buying you a speedo.” The cashier’s professional smile didn’t even waver as he rung up Jordi’s choices. Aiden wondered how many conversations like this he’d heard over the years.

“I will smother you in your sleep if I have to.” Aiden took the bag, following Jordi back out. He could see the swimshop in question—nearly identical to the one in their resort, which meant probably just as expensive.

“Kinky, but not my thing. At least, not receiving—I bet you’d have a thing for being choked out.” Jordi flashed him a grin, then stepped into the store and made a line straight for the swimtrunks tucked behind the racks of bikinis.

It was certainly a turnaround from Jordi’s whining yesterday. Aiden wondered if it was because _he_ was calling the shots this time, or if it was just that Aiden didn’t want to be here—controlling personality or gleeful spite? Hard to tell with Jordi. He seemed to be made of both in equal measure.

Then again, in their line of work, a controlling personality and healthy dose of spite were fairly standard. Fixers didn’t start flying solo because they _enjoyed_ listening to other people. Aiden could be introspective enough to admit it about himself; Jordi seemed to take active pleasure in pointing that fact out.

In retrospect, the trajectory of his relationships made a depressing amount of sense. At least Jordi was willing to give ground. Damien never had.

Not… much ground though. Aiden took one look at the bright, _ugly_ swim trunks in Jordi’s hands and said, “No.”

“You’d look hilarious in them. Like, genuinely fucking hilarious. And didn’t I say you’d look good in bolds?” Jordi held the trunks up thoughtfully, ignoring Aiden’s unamused expression.

“Either I look good in them or I look funny. You get one, Jordi.”

“You’d look good and funny.” Jordi rolled his eyes but put the trunks back. “Alright, jesus, stop trying to melt my brain with your eye lasers. We’ll get you some _boring_ swim trunks. I’m getting these red ones though, because unlike you, I enjoy having fun. I know how to _smile_.”

“I’m glad I remain a constant source of amusement,” Aiden said, refusing to rise to the bait. Before Jordi could respond by finding something even uglier, he picked up a pair of subdued black swim trunks and tossed them over Jordi’s arm.

Jordi draped the red trunks over Aiden’s choice, then grinned at him. “It is one of the reasons I keep you around. Nearly makes up for your personality.”

Aiden snorted, stepping to the side to let Jordi head past him, then froze when an arm looped around his waist. Jordi’s lips were soft against his, a light, chaste kiss that lasted a bare couple of seconds. Even so, it shook him to his core.

Jordi was already off to the registers again before he got a hold of himself. After a second, Aiden followed, dragging a hand over his mouth like he could prove to himself that it had just happened. For all the casual affection they exchanged in public, they’d never moved beyond anything that wasn’t plausibly deniable.

It wasn’t even like the store was crowded enough for anyone to have noticed. But Aiden couldn’t shake the feeling of being off balanced, caught between wanting another kiss and hating the idea of being seen as weak in public.

Trust Jordi to bowl him over without even trying.

He took that bag without complaint too, trying not to let himself stew over that kiss. If there was one thing Aiden knew about himself, it was that he was prone to overthinking—analyzing every little behavior, hunting for weaknesses to exploit or tells that someone was going to go on the offensive. He’d always been good at reading people and going on the run after he was outed as the Vigilante had only honed that skill. When anyone could recognize him and pull the house of cards down, Aiden had gotten very good at catching them before they even began to suspect.

But he’d never been good at reading Jordi. His eyes were the best tell he had, and even those weren’t reliable—Jordi smiled while holding a gun to someone’s head, whistled as he set up an elaborate crime scene, got angry about soap opera twists but dismissive about attempts to kill him. He didn’t react to things like most people did, some disconnect between what he thought and what he did. Or maybe there wasn’t a disconnect at all; maybe his thought processes were really that alien.

Some days, Aiden thought he had him figured out. And then Jordi would do something like this, and he’d be lost all over again.

“I’m getting macrons. What flavors do you want?” Jordi asked, eyes lighting up as he saw the shop in question.

“Just chocolate is fine.” He watched Jordi fuss and waffle over the flavors _he_ wanted, that unending energy of his making itself known in the oddest of places. The thing that unsettled him the most, Aiden decided, was that Jordi’s quirks only drew him in deeper. Every time it felt like he’d peeled another layer away, he wanted to see more. As working partners, he could’ve ignored it. Now that they had whatever it was they had…

He was in too deep. And he didn’t want to find his way back up.

Absently, he rubbed at his shoulder where he knew Jordi’s teeth marks remained and stared at the bruise peeking out over the collar of Jordi’s shirt. This was fun and games to Jordi, he knew that, but it couldn’t be that simple for him. Aiden absorbed the weight of that truth, then rolled his shoulders and pushed the thought away. That was a problem for another day.

“You’re a boring guy, you know that?” Jordi said, holding two chocolate macrons out as he returned. Aiden took them both, popping one in his mouth and falling into step beside him.

“I know what I like. I’ll leave the flowers to you.” He took a bite of his second macron, letting Jordi lead them out again. Even with as active as he was, walking for several hours was beginning to make his knees ache.

They lucked out on the tram again. This time, Aiden took a seat too, blowing out a sigh as he stretched his legs out.

Funny how time caught up to you. He wasn’t old, not by any means, but two decades of dropping off rooftops, getting shot at, and physically taking down opponents had taken its toll. He knees ached, and now that he was sitting down, his back and ankles were protesting too. It wouldn’t take long for him to get back on his feet, it never did, but he found himself thinking wistfully about Jordi’s hands easing the tension out of his back last night.

Maybe he could convince Jordi to give those new Posh products a whirl once they’d finished working out their plan of attack. They could stay in for the rest of the day, and he could check on his own mark. The security company had been having some internal issues, powerplays and mind games—he could dig into that, capitalize on it. Pull out his laptop while Jordi bitched at the offerings on TV.

He turned the thought over and over again in his mind like a worry stone, absently unlocking their room with his phone as they stepped out of the elevator. If he pitched it just right, he might even get a repeat of last night’s delicious meal. Jordi seemed to like cooking, so it wouldn’t be hard to convince him.

“Alright, I’ve got the resort map saved, and now we’ve got an idea of what the place looks like. Let’s plan this shit out,” Jordi said as he went to dig his own laptop out of his bag.

Aiden pulled his brain back to the situation at hand, then grabbed another donut while Jordi was busy. Getting in wouldn’t be a problem. Getting out again… that’s what they were here to figure out.

“So!” Jordi set his laptop on the counter, a map of both floors open. It wasn’t a set of blueprints, like they both might have preferred, but from their scouting run Aiden could estimate the sizes pretty well. “First things first: what’s our escape plan?”

“Are we driving there or walking? Driving means valet. Walking means still being on site by the time security can properly respond. Might also change how our entrance looks too, so we need to keep that in mind.” He leaned against the counter, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

“Mm, true. Let’s do the car—they have call-ahead, so we can have the car waiting. It’ll be valeted under a false name anyways.” Jordi tapped a finger on the edge of the laptop, then nodded once. “You at the wheel, we’ll get away easy. Yeah, that makes things simpler.”

“Better entrance too.”

Jordi grinned at him. “And you’ll make such a handsome chauffeur. So that’s our route _out_ , how are we dealing with security? I’m liking your distraction idea—you got any tricks up your sleeve for that? I can pick up some overnighters that are local, have them cause a commotion, but I don’t like spending money.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Aiden muttered, finishing off his donut. “I can set up something that will hit the security system, lock it down… Depending on who’s working that night, I might be able to set up some altercations. There’s bound to be a few drunks on the floor ready to start some shit with a little push. I need to get access to the system anyways, I’ll look up employee records and the schedule for the party, see what I can do.”

“I want to make it showy, but nothing that can be tied back to me. You think you can kill the lights while I kill him? Do a repeat of the stadium thing you pulled back in ‘13.” Jordi flung his fingers out in an explosive gesture.

“A blackout?” It wouldn’t just kill the lights. Cameras, automatic doors, the entire casino floor full of slot machines, it’d be absolute chaos. Between that and the manufactured distractions, security wouldn’t be able to think straight before they got away. “Yeah, I can do that. They’re plugged into ctOS for basic utility operations.”

“But not for security?” Aiden glanced up at the note of interest in Jordi’s voice and caught his narrow-eyed look of focus.

“They have their own system on top of the ctOS base. Casinos like this, they don’t trust anyone with _any_ of their secrets. They’re more tight-lipped that most crime groups, and they aren’t in on the ground-floor of the system like the Club was. Blume’s been trying to wheedle them over to it, but Chicago and the Silicon Valley leaks have them spooked. Give me a couple hours and I can break in. I just need an access point.”

“Huh.” Jordi turned his gaze back to the screen, then nodded once. “Alright, you’ve got security and our getaway handled. Let’s talk positioning.”

“I’m assuming you’re planning on being where the party is,” Aiden said dryly.

“Yeah, well, I am the man of the hour. Now, you’ll be set up here, with your phone or whatever, keeping an eye on me. You know, surveillance. Once we call in the valet, you need to head down to pick up the car and get her ready—you can do all that hacking shit from your phone, right?” Jordi gestured to the shopping area, well above the floor where his party would be taking place and beyond the reach of security. With the crowds he’d be at least five minutes away, even running.

“I can, but... you don’t want me down there with you?” It was an interesting choice—he would have figured that Jordi would need him in the ballroom too. No point in having him so far out of reach that he couldn’t help, and even with all their planning, there was plenty of room for things to go wrong.

“Of course I want you down there with me, whenever you’re out of my sights you end up getting shot at. But _you_ hate getting dolled up and this is sort of a suit and tie kind of shindig. No way you’ll get in there in that ass jacket, and I am ‘not allowed to kit you out,’ remember?”

Aiden blinked, taken aback by Jordi’s matter-of-fact tone. It was true that he hadn’t wanted Jordi to buy him a whole new outfit but hell—what was the point in driving out here to help if he wasn’t going to be in position to do so? Getting dressed up was a small price to pay for being within reach. And it would give him a better vantage point to set up their escape.

“I can wear a suit, Jordi. You need me at the party, I’ll be at the party.” Aiden leaned in, making sure that Jordi could see how serious he was. The surprised look he got was worth it completely.

After a second, Jordi shook his head and eyed Aiden more critically. It occurred to him that he’d just presented himself up on a silver platter for whatever arcane dressing rituals Jordi planned on getting into, but Aiden wanted to be at that party. He didn’t like the idea of Jordi being down there alone, not even for something that should be a simple in and out job. Maybe that was the unhealthy amount of affection talking, but the offer was out there now—Aiden wasn’t going to go back on his word.

“Party’s in three days, so that’s not a lot of time, but we should be able to find a half-decent tailor here,” Jordi said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Not a three-piece, I don’t think, but I’ll leave the cut up for debate—we’ll see what you look like in a couple different ones. Something in black—we’ll match. Alright, come on, let’s go.”

“I—what?” Aiden turned to follow him, wondering when they’d made a change in plans. Jordi had a fire in his eyes and a spring in his step, so it wasn’t worth the effort to stop him, even if Aiden had been hoping for an opening to pitch his lazy afternoon idea.

“We need to get you fitted asap. You think I’m about to let you buy something off the rack without tailoring it? No fucking way. If we need to buy you a suit, we need to get on that pronto.” Jordi made an impatient gesture at the door, shutting it firmly behind them once Aiden was out.

He followed, more confused by the moment as Jordi led him down through the resort and out the casino; there had been any number of high-end shops as they passed by, but Jordi ignored all of them on his rapid way out to the curb. It wasn’t until they reached it that Aiden realized he’d been on his phone, hunting out one of those driver apps.

“Jordi, I have a car—” he started to say, but it was too late. Their driver had arrived, and Jordi was waving him impatiently into the back.

“Johnson and Sons, right?” their driver said. She was a smiling Indian woman, and Aiden reluctantly smiled back. Jordi, for his part, just nodded before leaning back and socking him in the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you sprung this on me, you dick,” he said, though the look in his eyes was calculating rather than annoyed.

“I didn’t _spring_ it on you, I just made an offer. We don’t—if it’s going to be that much trouble, jesus Jordi, we don’t have to do this.” In fact, he was beginning to _regret_ making that offer in the first place. His objections went ignored.

“No, see, this is great,” Jordi was saying, hands all over the place as he mentally sketched out whatever he was picturing Aiden dolled up in, “because this gives me another set of eyes _and_ I can actually get you into half the places I need you to be in. You’re really fucking bad at fitting in, you know that Aiden? Just terrible. Absolutely awful. But now I can take you out to dinner someplace _nice_ and you don’t have an excuse to avoid it.”

Oh, he was definitely going to regret this. But it was too late to back out, and Jordi looked… absurdly, Jordi looked _happy_ despite his grousing, like he’d been waiting for the chance to do something like this. He wondered if this was like the meals Jordi kept picking up and the hotels he kept picking out—a way to show his appreciation, or maybe just a way to lord it over Aiden. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not with how much of a child he’d been over the shopping earlier, but Aiden was taken aback by it anyways.

He gave up, waving a hand in surrender to Jordi’s plotting. The driver seemed happy enough to take them where they were going, navigating the busy roads like they were second nature to her. They probably were, if this was how she made a living these days.

Eventually, they pulled up in front of the store Jordi had indicated. At least, Aiden hoped this was the right one—hard to tell when he didn’t know the area, and it sure as shit looked way pricier than anything he could afford to walk into. It wasn’t that he couldn’t dress fancy when he wanted, but he didn’t often want to and after a while, he’d gotten used to getting run out of Chicago’s nicer shops.

Jordi was out of the car and waiting, so Aiden climbed out as well, their driver giving them a cheerful wave goodbye before heading off to pick up someone else. Busy city. He didn’t get long to reflect on that, Jordi’s hand like a vice on his arm as he steered them both into the suit shop, calling out to one of the employees like they were old friends.

Just how often did Jordi even _visit_ Vegas?

“Mr. Chin, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” the employee said, gliding up to them in an impeccably tailored outfit that put Aiden’s button-up and jeans to shame. At least Jordi fit in here. He couldn’t exactly say the same.

“Michel!” Jordi sounded cheerful, which made Aiden’s stomach sink even further. “I heard you came out here, what, Boston not good enough for you anymore?”

The man smiled demurely, and Aiden was struck by the resemblance to Clara. Not in looks, but in attitude—she’d had that same I-know-something-you-don’t smile, the one that tried to play at niceness while hinting at all the secrets underneath. If Michel wasn’t involved in the business somehow, he’d eat his hat.

“I received a better offer, Mr. Chin,” he said, gesturing for them to follow him into the back of the shop, past the displays of designer suits. “Of course, I’m always happy to see a returning client. The usual?”

“Nah, nothing executive—your standard evening wear, not quite formal, think gala but with more drunk people. _Aiden_ needs a suit, because he’s never dressed fancy a day in his life. We need it in three days.” Jordi’s grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him from turning around and leaving. This was absolutely not what he wanted to do with his day.

If the idea alarmed Michel, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pursed his lips thoughtfully, gesturing for Aiden to step back into a fitting room. He didn’t get a chance to decide, because Jordi firmly propelled him in, then leaned against a wall near the curtained entrance with a shit-eating grin. No escaping, then.

“Yes, I can see why you don’t want us to bother with the kevlar then,” Michel said, eyeing Aiden up and down as he stared at Jordi. _Kevlar?_ The bastard was running around with kevlar in the lining of his suit. And Aiden had been stupid enough to be worried about him.

Jordi winked. From an angle he hoped Michel wouldn’t see, Aiden flipped him off.

“Yeah, I need this fast. We’re not going to match perfectly because he’s not my plus one, but make him look a little less like a drowned rat. You can work miracles, I believe in you.”

“I don’t look that bad,” Aiden snapped, tired of the jibes. From the way Jordi’s grin widened, that was exactly what he’d wanted.

“Of course not, Mr. Pearce,” Michel said soothingly, ignoring the way Aiden jerked around to stare at him. “Would you mind undressing, so I could get your measurements?”

He did mind, actually, but he was pretty sure Jordi would try and wrestle him out of his clothes if he admitted that. Aiden was reasonably certain he’d _win_ , but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to brawl in the fitting rooms of a tailor’s shop. He took the high road, grumbling under his breath as he tugged off his shirt, and pretended like he couldn’t hear Jordi’s wolf-whistle.

His holstered gun and belt were handed off to the fixer—he didn’t trust the tailor enough to just leave them lying around—but he left his wallet and phone in his pants pockets. Once he was stripped to his briefs, he submitted to the various bits of measuring tape with as good of humor as he could manage. Jordi had a hundred different opinions on _everything_ , from the width of his shoulders to the thickness of his waist, and a hundred different ideas for… whatever the hell he was talking about now.

Michel seemed to be keeping up with the chatter easy enough, and they were tossing ideas about cut and style between them like a bomb neither wanted to be stuck holding. Aiden couldn’t keep up with half of it, even if he’d wanted to.

“Will you be armed, Mr. Pearce?” Michel finally asked him, waving a hand for Aiden to pull his undershirt back on. Jordi’s sharp hand gesture kept him from reaching for any of his other clothes. Apparently, they were going to be trying some things out.

“Always,” Aiden said, glancing at his gun in Jordi’s other hand. The tactical baton was still firmly clipped to the holster, but Jordi had it angled so that Aiden could grab it at a moment’s notice. He appreciated the gesture.

“I saw you had a belt holster, like the kind Mr. Chin prefers. We’ll adjust your jacket so you’ll be able to access your gun without appearing armed.” Michel frowned thoughtfully, then stepped away. “I have a few suits that we could adjust in that timeframe. Would you prefer him in navy or in black?”

“Black,” Jordi said before Aiden could respond. He wasn’t sure he liked being talked over like this, but it wasn’t as if he could give a decent opinion of his own. “And we’ll be picking him up a shirt and tie to go with it.”

“I have—” Aiden started to say, but Michel was already gone, and Jordi looked smug about it.

“You’re not ready to try out advanced patterns or anything, but maybe someday. Black and white is good enough for you. No, you don’t get to wear the green shirt, don’t even think about it.”

He sighed. That wasn’t an argument he was going to win. So he picked a slightly different approach instead and asked, “Kevlar? In _all_ of your suits?”

“Some of them. Not all, because it _is_ heavy, but if I’m not positive I’ll be able to dodge a bullet, I like having a little bit of a safety net. Most of ‘em are just silk and wool though, so don’t get your hopes up on stealing a flak jacket for yourself.” Jordi pointed the holstered gun at him.

“Does it actually work?” Aiden frowned. His momentary outrage aside, Jordi’s suits couldn’t be thick enough to stop a bullet of any standard size.

“Won’t stop a direct shot to the chest, sure, but let’s be honest here—when was the last time you saw me get shot head on?” Jordi shrugged. “At least I won’t get half my arm blown off by a jackass who can’t aim when I’m wearing it.”

He winced at the reminder. Though he’d gotten most of his muscle strength back, his left arm was still weaker than his right these days. Aiden didn’t let people notice, because he didn’t dare expose that kind of weakness, but it figured that Jordi would have cottoned on by now. After all, he’d been the only person to see Aiden over the months he’d recovered, even if it was in short bursts between jobs for both of them.

It wasn’t the first scar he’d gotten, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it had been an alarming reminder that he wasn’t immortal. A decade ago, he might have bounced back completely. These days, he was slower to heal. Jordi… Aiden didn’t know how Jordi did it, other than his fussy attitude about wading into the fray himself; he had his own share of knife scars along his knuckles and arms, and a nasty knot of scars up on one of his shoulders, but even with those, Jordi’s body carried far fewer reminders than his own. Aiden had stopped trying to count the myriad of little burns, cuts, and glancing shots he’d taken. He tried not to think about the bigger scars—the memories attached to them were harsher, even after four years.

Something shifted in Jordi’s expression, and his voice was softer when he said, “You’re getting old, Aiden. Planning on scarring yourself up some more at the party?”

“Will you charge me for the suit if I get shot again?” He raised an eyebrow, trying not to analyze that expression too much. Jordi was getting old too.

“Uh, you bet your ass I will. This is an expensive fucking suit I’m buying you, you’d better not trash it on the first night.” Jordi pointed at him again, then straightened when Michel came bustling back into the fitting room.

“Here’s a shirt, Mr. Pearce.” Michel handed the white dress shirt to him, then turned to Jordi to continue his discussion. “I have three suits you might prefer him in, but I agree about the cut—do you want to try all of them, or do you just want the most likely of the three? It needs only some minor adjustments.”

“That’s the one you’ve got on hand, right? Let’s see him in that, and if I’m not a fan, I’ll let you know.” Jordi’s attention was back on the business at hand, and Aiden was stuck feeling like a particularly poseable doll again.

He took the offered slacks anyways, pulling them up and buttoning them before tugging the suit jacket on. They’d need to be hemmed, but the jacket fit nicely around the shoulders, and the movement was easy when Aiden tested it. Michel had him turn, making a few offhand comments to Jordi, then took his gun from the other man and handed it over.

“See how your range of movement is, Mr. Pearce. We can adjust everything else, but it would be best if you could draw without hindrance.”

The silk was crisp and heavy, leaving him uncomfortably aware that this was, as Jordi said, ‘an expensive goddamn suit’ he was trying on. At least there wasn’t any excess oil on the gun as he drew it, keeping the barrel pointed carefully away from the other two people in the room. If Jordi would be pissed about his _suit_ getting shot, Aiden couldn’t imagine how he’d feel about his _tailor_ getting shot.

His original assessment held up. The sleeves didn’t pull against him as he went through the motions of holstering his gun again, reaching for his baton instead. The back of the jacket hung easy over the whole array, and from the approving expression on Jordi’s face, it didn’t show anything underneath. Aiden rolled his shoulders one last time, then handed his weapons back to Jordi.

“It fits well,” he said, hearing the surprise in his own voice.

“ _I’ll_ say,” Jordi agreed, leering at him like the asshole he was. “No, but seriously, Michel? You’re a goddamn miracle worker. You can get the rest of the adjustments done by Sunday morning?”

Michel was busy at his feet, marking where the pants would need to be hemmed and pinning them up. He hummed in the affirmative, then said, “I can have it done by Saturday night if I stay back in the shop.”

“Nah, don’t push yourself. You’re getting a bigass tip either way. Alright, I’m gonna go find shoes while you’re doing that—you’re a size ten, right?” Jordi set the gun down, making sure Aiden could see exactly where it was, then stepped out before he could answer. It rankled that Jordi had been right about his shoe size too.

Silence descended, Michel occasionally making polite, quiet comments as he went around pinning and adjusting. Aiden didn’t mind silence, not really, but the thought bubbled up again: how had Michel known who he was? And so quickly, too—it would have been different if he’d been wearing his jacket and hat, Aiden knew those were easy to spot if someone knew what they were looking for, but this wasn’t his typical outfit.

“How did you know my name?” he finally asked, frowning down at the tailor.

“Mr. Chin has mentioned you before,” Michel said smoothly, stepping back to consider his handiwork. “And, of course, you have very striking eyes.”

That… hadn’t been the answer Aiden was expecting. He wasn’t sure which was more baffling—that his eyes were apparently as good a marker as his jacket, or that Jordi talked about him. To his tailor. That he’d treated more like a friend than just another salesman; there’d been an easy camaraderie between them, and Michel knew how Jordi’s more specialized suits were made.

Aiden was willing to bet that very few people in the world could claim that honor. Technically, he might be one of them now.

“Huh,” he said, glancing in the mirror to check himself over. When the adjustments were done, he’d look pretty sharp—Aiden wasn’t prone to vanity, that had always been Damien’s sin, but he could see now why Jordi liked to play dress up to all of his jobs.

“If you’d like to get dressed again?” Michel helped him out of the jacket and pants, making sure none of his adjustments were disturbed, then took the whole thing into the back. Aiden folded the dress shirt on his own, setting it down before pulling his own clothes back on. Once his gun was sitting at the small of his back again, he finally felt comfortable. Not as well hidden as it had been under the suit jacket, but at least this shirt didn’t _smell_ expensive.

Jordi popped back in before he could finish tying his shoes and handed him a pair of black dress shoes instead. “Try these on. Where’s Michel?”

“He took the suit back to his… office? Weren’t you going to pick up a tie too?” The shoes fit perfectly. He tapped the heels against the floor, then nodded and pulled them off. One less thing to try on. All things considered, he was beginning to think he’d gotten out of this a lot more easily than he could have.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to ask him a question. Whatever, it’s fine. Should I get you a haircut too?” Jordi frowned at him, but Aiden had his limits, and a visit to a salon was one of them.

“No. I didn’t know you talked about me.” The faster he could divert Jordi’s attention, the better.

It worked. Jordi blinked, then squinted at him and collected the shirt and shoes. “Uh, obviously I talk about you. We’re dating. And Michel caught your escapades on TV back when you were playing footsie with the Club in Chicago, thought it was super dashing or whatever. I had to set the record straight.”

Aiden wondered when they’d started dating. It was one of those things that kept throwing him—one minute, Jordi wanted this casual and open, the next he was talking about Aiden to his friends. It would be so easy to assume that Jordi was in as deep as he was, that maybe there was something permanent here, growing with every trip one of them made across the country. But he’d assumed before and been burned by it—no matter how much he wanted this to be solid, to be _real_ , Aiden couldn’t trust Jordi not to pull the rug out from under him.

Neither of them would ever be the white-picket-fence type. But he and Damien had been partners for years and it had worked well when it had worked at all. If he could be sure that Jordi wanted that too…

Aiden pushed those thoughts away, standing up as Michel came back into the room and waved them out to the sales floor. Jordi pounced with his questions—something about either colors or patterns, and Aiden wasn’t invested enough to pay attention to either—leaving him to follow them to the register.

Now that he was a little less blinded by the outfits on display, Aiden could see a few other men on the floor being aided by equally smooth salesmen. Was Michel the only tailor that worked the floor too, or did all of them have skill with a needle and thread? This was an area where he was hopelessly out of his depth, and Aiden knew it.

At least the party would be easier. The rich and inebriated were the same everywhere, whether it was charity functions or underground auctions. Everybody had their tipping point. It was just a matter of finding the right leverage.

Jordi laughed at something Michel said, leaning against the counter as his purchases were bagged up. Aiden hoped he wasn’t making a mistake here, giving Jordi more and more things to weigh against him.


	4. blood shift_

**April 13th, 2017, 15:22**

 

In the end, he’d gotten a haircut anyways.

At least it had been at barbershop, not a salon like he’d feared. Aiden wasn’t sure if he liked having anyone hold a blade that close to his face, but his hair was trimmed neat and styled how _he’d_ preferred—Jordi might have a vision in mind, but it was Aiden’s goddamn hair. He wasn’t going to get some designer cut just for a party he was attending _once_.

With a groan, he flopped back against the couch, fishing his gun out after a moment and setting it on the coffee table. If he’d been tired and looking forward to an afternoon in before, _now_ he was steadfastly refusing to leave the hotel suite again. If Jordi wanted to play tourist, he could do it alone.

Not that he seemed too interested in playing tourist right now. He was humming again, thumping around in the kitchen with a couple of pans. Spending money put him in a good mood, apparently—at least, it had _this_ time. Aiden had given up on trying to keep track of what influenced Jordi’s moods.

His thoughts turned wistfully to the steak they’d had last night. Maybe they’d do that again tonight. Of all the things he’d expected Jordi to be good at, cooking was firmly at the bottom of the list—the man loved food, sure, but they’d always stuck to restaurants and take-out before now. And yet, he’d been pleasantly surprised.

The remote was only a couple feet away, but turning on the television seemed like more effort than it was worth. Jordi’s humming was noise enough, a steady sound in the background that almost read like ‘safety’ in the back of his mind. Aiden sighed, letting his eyes slide closed. He’d get up in a second, go smoke on the balcony and center himself again.

A second turned into a minute, and then before he knew it, Jordi was nudging at his leg with a foot.

“Are you asleep?” The foot nudged again. It was tempting to stay there like that and pretend, but Aiden was pretty sure it wouldn’t be believable.

“I’m not dead, so that pretty much leaves only two options,” he said, slowly opening his eyes and squinting into the afternoon light. Either the room had gotten brighter, or he’d been sitting there for longer than he’d thought.

“Sleep-talking, that’s a new one for you.” Jordi grinned down at him, then offered a hand to help him up off the couch. Aiden took it, groaning softly as he stood. The oven was on, but he couldn’t tell what Jordi had put into it.

Jordi hadn’t let go of his hand. Aiden puzzled over that for a second, then grunted when he was tugged closer, Jordi’s other hand sliding easily over his hip—and straight into the back of his pants.

“Do you ever turn _off_?” he asked, voice warring between amusement and exasperation.

“Mm, no.” Jordi squeezed, then grinned at him when Aiden rolled his eyes. “Come on, I got to watch you get all dolled up. Cut me some slack here, at least I didn’t bend you over the counter while we were there.”

“You’re a saint,” Aiden said dryly. A thrill of excitement ran through him despite his tone—Jordi’s grin was infectious, and he had that light in his eyes that promised either a good time or a big mistake. With Jordi, it was almost always both.

And it _would_ mean staying in for the rest of the afternoon.

“Remember how you told me once that you usually topped and I called you a fucking liar because you’re the biggest bottom I’ve ever seen?” Jordi asked, steering them towards the bedroom. Aiden let himself be guided, wondering if Jordi was going to manage it without running them into something. He’d give it a seventy-thirty chance, but made sure his head wasn’t going to be the first thing that met any door frames.

“That time you were as wrong as you usually are? Sure, but go on.” Jordi didn’t bottom. _That_ was something Aiden had come to learn quickly—Jordi didn’t bottom, he didn’t return the favor when it came to blowjobs, and he hated having his ass played with. It was a crying shame, because Aiden was fond of his ass, but he’d accepted the loss long ago.

“What if I gave you the chance to _prove_ me wrong? Well, mostly wrong. You’re still going to be on my dick, but I’m tired of doing all the goddamn work here. I feel like I deserve to be treated, since I’m buying you one expensive fucking suit.” They made it into the bedroom without incident. Aiden reluctantly gave Jordi a point on his mental scoreboard.

“Feeling neglected, Jordi?” He couldn’t keep the interest out of his voice, and didn’t bother trying, not when his energy could go to something more useful—like getting Jordi’s shirt off. His jacket was already gone, probably hanging in the closet, which meant Aiden had fewer layers to deal with.

“Abso-fucking-lutely I am. How are you planning on making it up to me?” Jordi’s hands were working Aiden’s shirt off in return, alternating between that and groping him when they got the chance.

“Dirty talk’s more your thing, not mine,” Aiden murmured, pulling away long enough to let his shirts drop, then immediately going to work on Jordi’s belt. That was the problem with their respective fashion choices—too many fucking layers. “Can I just promise to ride you into the sunset?”

“Tempting, very tempting. But only if you’re the one wearing the bridle.” Jordi made a triumphant noise when he managed to unbutton Aiden’s jeans, then leaned back and tugged off his undershirt. They’d reached the bed, so Aiden spun them and gave Jordi a push, pulling away long enough to kick off his shoes.

“You’ve got a thing for me tied up, don’t you?” he asked, tugging his jeans and underwear off in one go. Jordi’s pants were easy enough to tug off from this angle, and then they were both naked, Jordi’s cock already standing at attention.

“What can I say? I like taming wild things,” Jordi said with a grin, dragging Aiden down into a long, hungry kiss.

Aiden groaned into the kiss, tangling his fingers in Jordi’s hair as he rolled their hips together. Jordi’s mouth was hot against his, his hands roaming eagerly as he rocked his hips up, and it was easy to lose himself in the heat of the moment. It didn’t matter the situation—Jordi always knew how to drive him crazy.

He finally managed to break away, breathing hard as he sat up and tried to pull his thoughts back together. This was a whole _thing_ they were doing, and that meant keeping himself in control for now.

“Where’s the lube?” Aiden asked, already scanning the room. Jordi’s hands had fallen to his thighs, running up and down the hard muscle there as he ground against Aiden’s ass.

“Dresser, my side of the bed. Condoms are in there too. You know what we should do? We should make those straps a little longer and tie you down on top of me, that would be sexy as hell.”

Aiden snorted, climbing off Jordi to go and fetch their sex supplies. He wasn’t sure about sexy, but he could see the appeal for Jordi. _He_ wanted to touch, wanted to drag his nails down Jordi’s chest and see him lose himself in the moment. Straps meant he’d be caught watching without the chance to do anything about it.

That gave him pause, and he had to shake his head to dislodge the thought. Alright, he could see the appeal for _both_ of them. But he still wanted to touch.

Jordi had shifted back up on the bed, one arm curled under his head as he watched Aiden. There was a grin on his face as he patted his thigh invitingly. The straps, Aiden noticed, had been adjusted, the cuffs sitting close to Jordi’s head like a message. Someone was getting awful demanding.

“So, when you say you want to be treated,” Aiden said, climbing into Jordi’s lap and lubing up his fingers, “do you mean, ‘do everything I tell you to, so I don’t have to do the work’? Because that’s what I’m seeing here.”

“You catch on so quick.” Jordi’s hand dragged up his thigh, nails leaving faint red lines on his skin.

“Lazy motherfucker.” Aiden couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice, even with as dangerous as that was. Jordi would take that fondness and run with it, he _knew_ that, but still it leaked into the way he spoke.

A sharp burst of pain exploded through him as Jordi’s nails dug in with sudden, vicious ease. His other hand grabbed Aiden’s wrist, squeezing hard enough that he could feel the bones grinding. The sudden attack made him freeze, his own defensive instincts warring with the sudden flare of heat low in his gut.

Jordi narrowed his eyes, voice thoughtful as he said, “You know, I was thinking I could maybe let you take a little control, see what you’d do with it. But now I’m pretty sure you can’t be trusted with that without losing your head. Give me a color.”

Aiden swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His heart was pounding, Jordi’s dark eyes promising violence if he wanted to get mouthy. It should have been threatening—but Aiden realized he wanted that hint of violence more than anything else in the world. “Green.”

It didn’t earn him a smile, but Jordi’s grip on his wrist relaxed slowly. There’d be bruises there tomorrow, but nothing felt damaged; if there was one person he could trust to use exactly as much violence as he needed and not a drop more, it would be Jordi.

“You’re going to get yourself lubed up and you’re going to be on my cock in the next couple minutes, or we’re going to find out what happens when you try to play games with me.” Jordi’s tone was still mild, conversational even, but his words were anything but.

Aiden didn’t want to find out what happened when he played games. Not today, at least.

He fingered himself hastily, bracing his free hand against Jordi’s chest as he stretched himself open. The hand on his thigh disappeared as Jordi tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, rolling it onto his own cock as Aiden leaned a little further forward. If he enjoyed the view, he wasn’t saying—but there was a heat in his gaze that told Aiden he wasn’t going to wait much longer.

A soft hiss escaped him as he slid onto Jordi’s length, slowly working himself down until he was fully seated. Aiden sat there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and his focus as he put more of his weight back, both hands resting on Jordi’s chest. The hand around his wrist tugged one arm forward, forcing Aiden to bow his back as Jordi secured the first cuff. The second followed quickly after, and then he was trapped like that, legs spread wide over Jordi’s hips, hands fisting in the sheets near Jordi’s head.

He couldn’t pull them any lower, nowhere close enough to touch Jordi or himself. He couldn’t push them much higher, to get a better angle to rock back. And Jordi’s hands, freed unlike his own, were roaming over his skin like Aiden was something that belonged to him.

“Now, what have we learned?” Jordi asked, rolling his hips up as Aiden gasped softly.

A small part of him, remembering that threat from earlier, wanted to play meek. The rest of him took control of his mouth before he could actually do that, so instead Aiden said, “Not to call you a lazy motherfucker?”

Jordi’s nails accompanied a hard thrust, drawing blood along his ribs. Aiden couldn’t help letting out a strangled moan, eyes squeezing shut as the combination of pain and pleasure overwhelmed him. The edges of his thoughts were beginning to blur together, but he managed to open his eyes again when Jordi said, “Look at me.”

Only his right side was bleeding, but the scar tissue over the left side of his ribs was on fire. The nerves there were shot, inconsistent in reporting pain—how lucky he was that they’d decided to inform him of every single point Jordi had touched him. It should have been upsetting. Aiden craved it instead.

“What,” Jordi asked again, voice patient while his eyes promised pain, “have we learned?”

“You’re the one in control.” His words were rough, shaking like his arms where he braced against the mattress. He didn’t know if that was the right answer. He was beginning to think that he didn’t care, either.

“ _There_ we go,” Jordi said, rewarding him with another thrust and lazy grind as his palms smoothed over Aiden’s stomach. He made a low noise, shutting his eyes again as he rocked his hips back, driving himself down on Jordi’s cock with the same slow deliberation.

The hands drifting over his skin were gentle and vicious in turns—Jordi’s fingers gliding over the muscle in his thighs before digging bruises into the curve of his hip, Jordi’s palm giving his cock the briefest, sweetest stroke as his nails hooked into that scar again and _gouged_. Aiden couldn’t keep track of when a touch was going to bring pleasure or pain, couldn’t predict where Jordi was going to hurt him next.

He stopped trying, letting the hazy feeling of floating take him over. It wouldn’t matter what Jordi did to him—he’d take every bit of it, and he’d love it. He didn’t have to fight it, didn’t have to think, because he could trust Jordi not to take it too far.

The cuffs were heavy on his wrists, solid counterpoint to the fleeting touches all over the rest of his body. It kept him steady, the bulwark he held to while waves of sensation coasted over him, pain and pleasure mingling until there was nothing left to separate them.

If Jordi had fucked him hard, he would have been gone already, but his thrusts were slow and steady, keeping Aiden on that edge. He could drive his hips down with all the desperation in the world, but Jordi wasn’t going to let him come until he damn well wanted him to—all Aiden managed was to work himself up further, skin fever hot wherever Jordi’s hands touched.

Searing heat flashed over his jaw, Jordi’s palm against his cheek as his thumb ran over Aiden’s lips where they parted for ragged gasps. He opened his eyes long enough to see the look of satisfaction on Jordi’s face, then turned into the touch. That look left him raw, aching for something he couldn’t put name to—it was so much easier to push that away, try and focus on the way Jordi felt inside him instead.

“Give me a color,” Jordi said again, hips rolling slow as he pushed up into Aiden.

It took him almost too long to remember how to speak, and his voice was ragged when he whispered, “Green.”

The thumb against his lips pushed in, pressing against his tongue as Aiden made a soft, pleading noise. Salt and something faintly metallic—his own blood, probably, all overlaying the taste of skin that was wholly _Jordi_. Fingers curled under his jaw, then his head was firmly turned until he was meeting Jordi’s eyes again. He was caught now, head trapped like his arms were trapped, Jordi’s gaze burning into him with possessive hunger.

“You know, you’ve got a mouth that was made for sucking dick,” Jordi said, his voice low and rough. His thumb pushed deeper as his other hand dragged lines of pain down Aiden’s thigh, leaving him groaning helplessly.

Aiden sucked, because it sounded like what Jordi wanted from him, lips closing around the thumb as he rocked back onto Jordi’s cock. His knuckles went white where he clung to the sheets, a dozen different pleas caught in his throat—for Jordi to fuck him harder, for Jordi to hurt him more, for Jordi to do anything to free Aiden from his own skin.

Jordi’s hand finally pulled away, trailing a line of saliva over Aiden’s lips as he turned his head to try and catch the thumb in his mouth again. There was a low rumble of what might have been a laugh or a groan from underneath him, then Jordi was gripping his hips hard enough to bruise and fucking up into him.

The trapped pleas spilled out, Aiden’s voice cracking on his wordless begging as he drove himself down on Jordi’s cock. The tension that had been riding him finally broke, lightning arcing down his spine as his mind went wonderfully, blissfully blank.

Below him, Jordi groaned and went still, hands still tight on Aiden’s hips. Aiden shuddered, hands shifting restlessly on the sheets as he tried to remember how to breathe. He couldn’t move, couldn’t free himself even if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t want to. For now, he was happy to float.

Eventually, Jordi moved again, fingers moving to the cuffs around Aiden’s wrists and gently easing them off, one after the other. Then he urged Aiden up, shushing him when Aiden complained wordlessly about the shift in position. He wanted to collapse forward and lose himself in the feel of Jordi’s skin, not test the strength of his shaky legs.

“I know, but I promise it’s worth getting up for,” Jordi said, tugging him close and burying his fingers in Aiden’s hair. Jordi’s lips were soft where they brushed against his cheek, but his grip on Aiden was firm as walked them into the bathroom.

He sat heavily on the edge of the tub, stretching his legs out slowly and watching them tremble. An ache was working its way up his ribcage, the strain of the position and Jordi’s ungentle affections no longer buried under the waves of pleasure. A few of the scratches on his thighs were bleeding sluggishly still, but most of them were only bruised. Jordi must have been digging in deep to even get that much, because his nails weren’t long.

Fingers in his hair again, and Aiden leaned into the touch, wrapping one hand around Jordi’s knee. The bath was running, dull thunder of the water drowning out his vague thoughts as he pushed his face into Jordi’s hip. The hand in his hair moved with lazy, easy strokes that felt like they ended a second too soon.

Jordi nudged him after a bit, leaning over to turn off the water. He must have dumped the bath bomb in the water while Aiden had his eyes closed, because it was a rich, deep blue with faint swirls of gold. It was also a lot deeper than they usually managed, the tub more than big enough to fit them both.

“Go ahead and get in, I’ll be there in a sec.” Jordi gave him a final pat, then left the bathroom to do… something. Check on their food, maybe.

It took him a couple seconds to work up the energy, but eventually Aiden slipped into the tub with a soft hiss. The hot water stung in his scratches—including in cuts he hadn’t realized he _had_ —but it helped soothe the ache in his muscles. He eased himself forward, stretching his back and legs, then sighed and sat up straight.

That had been… different.

Sometimes, when they fucked, it sent him out of his head entirely. Not often, and certainly not always, but sometimes. It was the best high he’d ever had, and he found himself craving it like all the other things he knew he shouldn’t want. But sometimes it was like this—a mixture of mind-numbing pain and pleasure, leaving him shattered and empty once it was over. Aiden could never tell which he liked better in the moment, but the aftermath? He vastly preferred coming down from the former. Especially when Jordi wasn’t in the room with him, filling the gaping hole where his heart should be.

He shifted out of the way when Jordi returned, letting him into the tub before draping himself across the other man’s chest. It helped.

“You got rough,” Aiden said hoarsely, gliding his hand over the muscle of Jordi’s side. Apparently, this bath was going to feature glitter—some was already caught in Jordi’s chest hair.

“You got bitchy, what did you expect? Looked like you were having fun. How’s your side?” Jordi’s voice was as caustic as always, but his fingers were gentle when they poked at the injuries he’d left.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Or at least, nothing that would really restrict his movement. Jordi was good at doling out punishments without leaving any permanent damage. “It’s a little weird actually having enough room for both of us in here. What are we supposed to do if we can’t flood the bathroom?”

Jordi snickered, rubbing his cheek against Aiden’s face. For a while they sat like that, his aches and pains bleeding out into the hot water around them. Jordi’s arm was a solid weight across his back, and he seemed happy enough to have Aiden’s body sprawled on top of his own, their legs tangling further the longer they stayed there.

From the way Jordi’s fingers were tracing over his hip, Aiden could tell he had something he wanted to ask. But he stayed quiet, letting Aiden find his balance again. Letting him pull his feelings back down to something manageable, something he could handle without the cavernous feelings of loss that wanted to follow.

“When did we start dating?” Aiden asked without thinking, the words escaping before he could stop himself from being that open.

At least Jordi didn’t answer flippantly, with a ‘for _ages_ , keep up’ or ‘since when were you my boyfriend’. He seemed to consider the question with the same weight he’d considered any of their discussions on strategy—more, maybe. Killing people was something both of them did without thinking. A relationship… that was different.

And Jordi had been the one to say they were _dating_.

“November,” he said eventually, letting himself slide a little deeper into the tub and taking Aiden with him. “I’m pretty sure we went casual-official in November.”

“Casual-official?” Aiden asked, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Yeah, you know, when it’s an official thing but neither of you are talking about it. Casual official. What, you think I invited you to Vegas just ‘cause we’re friends?” Jordi gave him a look of mock disappointment. “I expected better of you. Well, no, I didn’t, but come on, even _you_ can’t be that dense.”

He wasn’t. But Aiden knew Jordi and knew the things Jordi liked—nice suits and well-oiled guns, easy jobs and little luxuries. On the list of feelings Jordi was capable of expressing, ‘loyalty’ and ‘longstanding affection’ would be firmly at the bottom. Aiden wasn’t even going to consider the possibility of ‘love’, because he knew better than that.

It’s not that he was dense, it was that Jordi had never given any indication that they _were_ dating. Every time they’d met up had been accompanied by a job for one or both of them. Why would he ever assume that it was something more than that, two friends fucking because it was easier than finding someone else?

“I was still laid up in November,” Aiden said, avoiding the question. Jordi snorted, but allowed him that much.

“Only barely. That’s when I came back through Miami for that gang hit, you remember the one, with the girl chopped up in the piñata? But I stopped by first to check on that arm, and then we went and plinked a bunch of drug runners until I could get my guy?”

Aiden hummed softly. “I remember. You told me to drive my Lambo into a yacht, then said I had shit aim and needed a better rifle to make up for it.”

“Hey, I was _right_. Your rifle is garbage. And I don’t go back and help people for no fucking reason, Aiden. I figured you were the same way. You know, outside of your whole boner for punitive justice or whatever.” Jordi huffed, then tugged Aiden higher, their noses brushing as he dropped a soft kiss on Aiden’s cheek.

It put a different light on things. Even so, Aiden wasn’t sure he trusted it. “You know, you could’ve mentioned.”

“What, just been like, ‘hey Pearce, we’re dating now, thanks’? That sounds pretty fucking dumb.” Jordi’s eyes were half closed, his lips so close that Aiden would barely have to move to kiss them.

“Better than ‘by the way we’ve been dating for six months’,” he said softly, taking that gamble and pressing their lips together.

Jordi hummed into his mouth—not quite agreeing, though Aiden had hoped he would—and kissed back, his free hand coming up to cup Aiden’s cheek. He didn’t push any further than that, his thumb running along the edge of Aiden’s stubble as he kissed him slow.

It was easy for Aiden to lose himself in the feel of Jordi’s lips, Jordi’s body pressed up against his as a firm hand dragged down over his back. He shifted carefully, his thigh sliding between Jordi’s legs as he settled into a more secure position, one hand gliding up the muscles in Jordi’s chest. The tub was big, but not big enough for them to get up to anything crazy.

The hand on his back pulled him closer before sliding down to squeeze his ass. Maybe nothing crazy, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun.

“Hey, Pearce,” Jordi said as he finally broke away, squeezing Aiden’s ass again, “we’re dating now. You’re welcome.”

He laughed, then gasped softly as Jordi’s other hand snuck between them, nails skating over Aiden’s stomach just hard enough to sting. Despite that, his fingers were gentle when they wrapped around Aiden’s cock, their usual calluses softened by the shimmering water between them.

Aiden slid his hands into Jordi’s hair, the long strands twisting around his fingers. He didn’t let Jordi pull his head away, chasing his lips into another kiss as he shifted to make it easier for Jordi stroke him slowly. This lazy, casual touching wasn’t usual for them, but Aiden wasn’t about to complain.

Jordi shifted them both, working Aiden up as he pulled their hips together, his cock already standing at attention when it pressed against Aiden’s half-hard shaft. His fingers tightened in Jordi’s hair, Aiden’s breath hitching as he rolled his hips and broke the kiss.

“You really _don’t_ turn off, do you?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I’m the fucking energizer bunny,” Jordi said smugly, startling another laugh out of him.

He found Jordi’s lips again, kissing him harder. Jordi’s palm was soft, his skin smooth where he rocked into Aiden, fingers tightening but still gentle around their shafts as his fist pumped lazily. He could reach down and help—but Jordi had things under control, his attention focused entirely on Aiden as he kept their bodies where he wanted.

Aiden left his hands where they were, buried in Jordi’s hair, tangling it as he chased Jordi’s tongue with his own. Here, like this, they weren’t playing any of the games that the bedroom held. It was just Jordi’s body against his, Jordi’s hand around his cock, Jordi’s mouth hungry against his own as Aiden filled the empty hole in his chest with the feeling of Jordi all around him.

His thigh slid up over Jordi’s hip as they rolled in the bath, the water sloshing up over the side and spilling onto the bathroom floor. Jordi’s hand was moving faster now, his hips rocking into Aiden’s hard, their cocks grinding together. The porcelain side of the tub was warm against his back, but not as warm as Jordi’s mouth on his, a soft groan catching on his lips.

The build of tension was slow, sparks of electricity shooting through him with each stroke, his muscles tightening as he pressed into Jordi. It felt like he could ride that edge forever, heat and lighting under his skin as he tangled his legs with Jordi’s, thrusting up into his hand. Jordi’s teeth caught his lip, so Aiden returned the favor, just a hint of pain filtering through the tight ball of pleasure coiling in his stomach.

Jordi gasped his name, nails digging into the meat of Aiden’s thigh as his other hand tightened around them both, and it was the only push he needed to tip over that edge. Aiden moaned, hips jerking as he came, pressing his face into Jordi’s fever-hot skin and letting go.

Goosebumps flashed over his skin, Jordi’s arm a steel brace against his back as the rest of him went limp. Aiden’s fingers went slack in Jordi’s hair, no longer pulling at it as he slid them free and dragged them over the muscles in Jordi’s back. He liked the idea of staying here, even if the water was almost up over his head in this position. If he was lucky, Jordi would feel the same.

He wasn’t lucky. After a few seconds, Jordi pulled his hand out from between them and pushed himself up with a groan. The sudden shift nearly drowned him, but Aiden managed to save himself before he went completely under. He gave Jordi a dirty look, then snorted softly, his irritation shifting into humor at faint shine he could see on Jordi’s skin

“What?” Jordi asked, rolling his neck as he lounged back against the side of the tub again. It might have been Aiden’s restless hands, or the water that had sloshed around them, but Jordi had a line of gold glitter in his beard, more of it sparkling in his mussed-up hair.

“You, uh, have a little something on your face there,” Aiden said, glancing down at his own front to confirm. Yep, glitter. He hoped it washed out; it wasn’t irritating his skin like the chunky craft glitter from children’s art sets did, but it certainly seemed to get everywhere. His skin was practically glowing with it.

“The fuck do you mean I have a little—” Jordi’s fingers dragged through his hair, and he squinted at the gold on his fingertips. “Son of a bitch. You marked me.”

“Pretty sure _you_ marked _us_ when you grabbed this bath bomb.” There was probably glitter in _his_ hair, come to think of it, but Aiden couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it. It caught on the edges of his scars, painting them in gold. Dipping lower into the water seemed to clean some of it off, but he bet that wouldn’t last long.

“ _You_ picked this one out, dickhead.” Jordi’s voice was annoyed, but he reached forward to pull Aiden between his legs again. He let himself be dragged over, stretching his legs out again as he got comfortable, his back to Jordi’s chest. Jordi’s hands smoothed over his skin, his fingertips still soft as they ran gold over Aiden’s stomach.

“Did I?” It might have been one of the ones he’d selected from Jordi’s options. Aiden couldn’t recall. “Huh. This washes out, right?”

“No. You’re stuck like this forever,” Jordi said, biting the edge of his jaw.

The glitter was collecting on some of the nail marks Jordi had left too. Aiden was pretty sure he’d have to wipe those down—he didn’t know what the glitter was made of, but it probably wasn’t sanitary to leave it in his scratches. He slid his own fingers along Jordi’s arm, watching the swirls of gold catch on his arm hair, and smiled wryly.

“Well, at least we’ll match.”


	5. cold shock_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is "mood whiplash, the chapter" I tell myself, as if that's not every chapter ever. Mind the violence tag.

**April 15th, 2017, 19:48**

 

The setting sun painted the room in warm tones through the cracks of the curtains, orange streaks of lights cutting across the floor just out of sight. Most other hotels, even nice ones, had some noise filtering in from the halls and adjoining rooms, but this one didn’t—the bedroom was dead silent, the sound of his laptop fans whisper-quiet. It was surprisingly restful.

Jordi was a light sleeper and a quiet one. No snoring and none of the paranoid wariness that Aiden knew interrupted his own nights; at this point, he slept through most of Aiden’s nighttime restlessness. He hadn’t expected it, not with how careful Jordi was when it came to protecting his own neck, but he wasn’t about to test the limits of Jordi’s ability to sleep through his bullshit. He liked his fingers too much to risk it.

Jordi’s hair was soft against Aiden’s hip, one arm wrapped around his waist like he had no intention of letting Aiden leave. Occasionally a twitch or jerk would flow through him, his fingers constantly shifting on Aiden’s skin. If he had a death wish, Aiden might compare him to a dog chasing cats in its sleep. Jordi had told him once that he never dreamed; Aiden had his doubts about that, but he envied him nonetheless. His nightmares never stopped hunting him, ripping away at the bits of peace he could manage—Quinn’s death hadn’t fixed that. Maybe nothing would.

They were going out tonight. He hadn’t been given a choice in the matter, but he hadn’t complained either. This was going to be a practice run for his own target later this week—Vegas nightclubs ran with populations in the thousands, not the dozens he was used to—and would give him a chance to feel out how closely security was watching. By tomorrow night, he planned to have his mark reliant on the club bouncers and no one else.

He’d started with the minor personal issues in the security team and escalated them into major group hostilities. It hadn’t even been hard—two of the main team leads had been sleeping with other guards’ wives, and one of the team members had been quietly battling a heroin addiction. With five guards now off the roster, and two of them the ones in charge of setting up the shift rotations, the company had been scrambling.

On top of that, Aiden had been feeding texts and emails—some real, some falsified—to their client, Samuel Foster; if the unprofessional behavior hadn’t been enough to piss his mark off, getting a copy of the group conversation where his guard teams complained about his drinking habits had done the job. He was ready to wash his hands clean of the whole farce, willing to take on Vegas on his own without worry. After all, it wasn’t like his nasty little habit had ever been caught before.

It was incredibly satisfying to put the pieces into place. Aiden couldn’t wait to see Foster’s face when he realized exactly how badly he’d fucked up.

Jordi’s arm tightened around his waist, his entire body tensing like he was ready to attack. A few months ago, Aiden might have been alarmed, but he’d grown used to the way Jordi woke up by now. Half the time, the man didn’t even realize he did it—Aiden had asked, after their conversation about dreams, and Jordi had looked at him like he was crazy.

The tension drained away as Jordi shifted, beard tickling at the skin of Aiden’s thigh. A moment later, he spoke, voice fuzzy with sleep as his lips pressed to Aiden’s hip. “I thought the whole point of taking a nap was, y’know, sleeping.”

“Wasn’t tired,” Aiden said, not sure if it was true. He set his laptop to the side anyways, reaching a hand down to curl his fingers in Jordi’s hair.

“Fucking liar, you didn’t sleep last night either.” Jordi’s mouth was working its way up his side, the arm wrapped around his waist shifting as he dragged a hand down Aiden’s thigh. It kicked his heartbeat up, his fingers tightening a little at the sight of Jordi that close to his dick, and Aiden wondered if there was a way to suggest they stay in for the night instead.

“I don’t need as much sleep as you do. I’ll be fine, we’re just going out for a couple hours, right?” His voice wavered on the last, not quite asking if they were leaving at all. Aiden hoped the answer was no.

But Jordi pulled away and grinned at him, dark eyes crinkling at the corners like he knew what Aiden had been angling for. Not that it was difficult to tell when Aiden was half-hard at just the thought of a blowjob he knew would never happen, but Jordi looked too pleased with himself. They weren’t staying in tonight.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna get dressed, you… figure yourself out.” Jordi pressed a quick, mocking kiss to Aiden cheek and rolled out of bed, a spring in his step as he headed towards the closet where he’d hung his suits. At least _one_ of them was happy—though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to Jordi dolled up a little more than usual.

Either way, he wasn’t getting any more work done tonight. Aiden tied up a couple loose ends on his laptop, then shut the whole thing down. It was time to break in that fancy new shirt Jordi had bought him—not the green one, despite the fact that it was Jordi’s favorite of the two, but the black one he’d snuck into the purchase at the last moment.

He debated with himself for a bit, then tucked his shirt in and grabbed a black leather jacket from the bottom of his bag. It wasn’t his ‘ugly peacoat’, but it had deep pockets and he wanted a subtler place to hide his gun than at the small of his back. Jordi gave him an approving look as he tugged on his own jacket. He was dressed much darker than usual, dress shirt a deep purple under the gunmetal grey of his suit. There was faint threading on the shirt, embroidered designs that caught the light, and even fainter embroidery in the suit fabric—the whole getup practically made Aiden look sloppy in comparison. He could live with that.

“Are you actually going to let me drive this time, or are we taking the tram again?” Aiden asked dryly, pocketing his wallet and phone. He didn’t bother reaching for his keys. Jordi seemed allergic to driving in this city, so he wasn’t expecting to use them.

“Uh, you’re going on night number two without sleeping. I think we’re safer with the tram, don’t you?” Jordi hipchecked him on the way out the door before holding it open for Aiden, who rolled his eyes.

“I’ve gone for longer. It’s _fine_ , Jordi.” And it really was. If it had been a week, _maybe_ Jordi would have cause for concern, but two nights? Aiden had run on less sleep for most of his life.

“Well, I don’t want to deal with the valet service, so tram it is.” The door shut decisively behind them, effectively ending the conversation. Aiden shook his head as he followed Jordi to the elevator.

Trust him to be a mother hen about this _one thing_ —Jordi got hung up about his health at the strangest of times. He’d drink like an Irishman, then turn around and chew Aiden out for eating too many meals at Quinkies. They could run into a storm of gunfire and Jordi wouldn’t fuss over anything other than the marks on his suit, but Aiden would grab a pistol without checking if it had a bullet chambered and get treated to a lecture about gun safety.

It was absolutely infuriating, and it was one of those things that he wouldn’t change about Jordi. Not usually, at least, though if Jordi started bitching about his cigarettes one more time, he’d reconsider that.

He pulled one out at the thought, letting it sit easy between his lips as they stepped into the warm night on their way up to the train platform. A young woman had a stack of flyers she was trying to hand out, and he dodged her outstretched hand as he lit his cigarette. Jordi, on the other hand, detoured towards her, grabbing a couple of flyers for himself.

That was odd from Jordi, but Aiden didn’t think much of it—until he started laughing.

“What?” he asked, looking over as he stopped near one of the benches on the station. Jordi had a hand over his mouth and was failing to hide his delight. “Jordi, what the hell are you laughing about?”

Instead of answering, Jordi handed him one of the flyers—cheap paper, but with a full-color advertisement on it, for one of the clubs in the area. One of the _strip_ clubs in the area. The kind that featured almost exclusively male dancers.

The flyer had a young man on it, no older than twenty five. His abs were disgustingly well defined, his unlined face wearing a cocky grin that lit up his eyes. Contacts, Aiden assumed, though the hair color was probably natural—brunettes weren’t that hard to find. He had a fake gun in hand, the orange tip nearly invisible where it was shoved into his pants in a suggestive way. His other hand was behind his head, putting the muscles of his chest on display. Everything about the man on the flyer exuded youthful arrogance and sensuality.

In Aiden’s clothes.

It made him weirdly jealous, even if the thought of a striptease based on his outfit was too humiliating to consider. _He’d_ never looked that bright-eyed or cocky, he was pretty sure, and he definitely didn’t have that kind of muscle definition. At least his coat looked better. This one was probably cheap vinyl. Probably.

“You know, Jordi, if there’s a hell? You’re going to it,” he said after a moment, crumpling the flyer into a ball and tossing it in a garbage can. He never should have asked.

“I hope they get Ben Affleck to play you in the movie,” Jordi said gleefully, folding his own copy of the flyer up and tucking it away. Aiden made a promise to himself to find it and toss it later, before Jordi could do something like scan it and send it to everyone else in their network. He didn’t touch a lot of the fixer marketplaces these days, outside of checking to see who had hits out on him, but that didn’t mean he wanted his reputation smeared either.

“You’re a bastard. I’m holding out for Hugh Jackman, at least.” He blew out a cloud of smoke, then shook his head and stubbed the cigarette out as the train pulled into the station.

“You don’t have the bone structure for him, don’t flatter yourself.” Jordi leaned against him as they stepped into the train, grabbing a pole and bracing himself. People piled out, and more people piled in after them, as a few giggly women grabbed the available seats. The heat of Jordi’s body against his own wasn’t unwelcome, despite the warmth of the desert night.

Aiden wanted to ask who’d play _Jordi_ , but he knew the answer: no one. Jordi was never going to get a character on the big screen, because Jordi was never going to be caught doing any of the things he’d done. His work had always been best when it went undocumented, like any good fixer, and even ctOS wasn’t able to pin him down.

He’d been the same way, once. And then Damien had happened.

At least people didn’t know his name out here like they had in Chicago. He’d been sticking to places outside of the Midwest for years now, avoiding his home city like the plague. The Vigilante was something of a media figure even out here, but four years was a long time for people to remember his name—or his face. Maybe he’d even get to go back to Chicago someday without being spotted instantly, but why bother?

He missed the city, but there wasn’t anything there for him now. And if Nicky had been smart—and she was smart, smarter than he gave her credit for sometimes—she would have left the Midwest entirely too. He’d told her to head to Canada when he’d met her in St. Louis, given her fake passports and all the documents she’d need to immigrate. He wasn’t sure if she’d listened, but he hoped she had.

Safer not to confirm it, not when looking could expose her. So he held onto that hope instead, and he kept himself busy far away from Illinois.

The women were clearly already in their cups, voices getting louder and louder as they fell into hysterics over some bit of gossip one of them had. Jordi rocked against him, lips against Aiden’s ear as he said, “Here’s our stop.”

They stepped off the train as a peal of laughter rang out from the group, and the station was blessedly quiet in comparison. There were a couple twenty-somethings waiting to board, mostly done up in outfits similar to theirs, which was odd because this station looked to be in an even more remote area than the last few they’d visited. The back of the casino was a broad, blank stretch of white, narrow alleyways winding towards the side entrance at the bottom of the stairs.

“Good place to get mugged,” Aiden said dryly, earning himself a snort of agreement from Jordi. There were lights, but not many, and it wouldn’t be hard to stay tucked away, waiting to jump someone who wasn’t in a group.

The interior of the casino was more welcoming, for a given metric of ‘welcoming’. It was slick and modern, sleek black walls and neon floodlights. Most of the clientele seemed to be a good ten years younger than both of them, but Jordi didn’t look bothered by that. Not that Aiden thought Jordi was ever bothered by anything. He could bullshit his way into every situation.

At least the line into the club included more men and women their age, and most of them dressed about as nicely as he was. Jordi was a cut above all of them, but not so much that he didn’t fit—his suit was nice enough to attract notice but wasn’t so nice that he looked out of place.

The line wasn’t moving fast, but it was moving. That was more than could be said for some venues out here.

A few of the people around them were smart enough to have their phones locked down, more than he’d expected. One of the DedSec patches, if he was any judge—the San Francisco group wasn’t the only one releasing updates on their app, and kids around that age were more likely to use anything that promised them a way to fight the man. Easy, one-click resistance, letting someone else take on the difficulty of the revolution in return for a little bit of processing power on their phones.

He bypassed those phones in favor of the unlocked ones, skimming off the top of the bank accounts available for him. Most of the crowd was probably carrying cash, but they weren’t richer for it. Aiden took care of that.

Jordi’s phone was completely open, like all of his burners—the only thing Aiden couldn’t access was the app he used to pull contracts. There weren’t any banking apps on his phone, or email accounts, no real life contacts. There _were_ five different variations of pachinko games, and two puzzle games that relied on people failing and buying retries. Jordi was playing the second one, rather skillfully, and Aiden couldn’t tell if it was luck or experience that informed that.

Maybe he should have tried to bring the laptop anyways. Not that he couldn’t work from his phone; in some ways, it was _easier_ to use his phone alone, because he knew how it worked by heart. All of his access points, all of his macros, the easy way he could connect to ctOS and make it work for him, that was his phone. But it was hell to read on, and he didn’t have most of his files on Foster handy. The man wasn’t a big enough fish to justify taking up the storage.

The screen of Jordi’s phone burst into color as the flowers in his game exploded. The line moved, and moved, and finally they were in the club.

The music had been faint from outside, but as they moved in, it grew much louder. This club was larger than any other he’d been in before—like the rest of Vegas, it wasn’t just an establishment, it was a miniature theme park. The whole thing was almost as massive as the casino floor, and at least as crowded, well-dressed bodies pressing into each other to the beat of the music, lights flashing over everything, four separate bars surrounded by thirsty patrons.

If the line had been flush with cash, the club itself was overflowing. Aiden couldn’t help himself, spiriting money out of bank accounts with swift flicks of his thumb, one eye on Jordi as they navigated back towards a section of the club away from DJ, where things were quiet enough that he could hear himself think again.

Jordi finally came to a stop in a slightly clear space by one of the half-walls that overlooked a section of dance floor. Aiden leaned against it, casting his gaze across the club as a whole—he was glad now that he’d let Jordi talk him into this, because he hadn’t realized just what trial it would be to find Foster in a club like this.

Before tonight, he’d thought it would be as easy as hunting down Defalt at Dot Connexion. Now… it was good to have the practice. Room this big, this loud, he could probably get off a shot without many people noticing, as long as he was careful about it. The real problem would be the risk of hitting the crowd, when there was barely room to breathe in the crush sometimes.

“Do you want a beer like a pussy or liquor like a man?” Jordi asked as he put his phone away, flashing Aiden a grin.

He mulled the question over, then offered Jordi a faint half-smile of his own. “Let’s split the difference, get me a beer-vodka mixer.”

“You’re disgusting. I’ll be right back.” Jordi thumped him with a shoulder as he made his way towards the closest bar, leaving Aiden grinning as he returned to his surveillance of the club. Security was everywhere, the closer he looked—they probably needed to be on top of things more than a smaller establishment would, pulling the belligerent drunks out before they could ruin the mood for the happy and well paying ones.

He pocketed his phone and tracked one bouncer through the crowd for a few minutes, watching him keep an eye on the gyrating couples in case they were getting too handsy. Most of the men and women were keeping it clean, but a few got close—never crossing that line, but humping directly on it whenever possible. In the crush of bodies, it was near impossible to tell the difference between accidental and deliberate touching.

And here and there a couple men were grinding on each other instead—the women were less obvious about it, but once Aiden knew to look, he could find them. Dressed just like the rest of the crowd, cocktail dresses and dress shirts with slacks, but pointedly turning their attention towards the same sex. Openly, without fear of anyone seeing them.

Abruptly, Aiden felt like an outsider here.

It wasn’t that he was _afraid_ of being publicly affectionate with Jordi, but it made him uneasy on a gut level. He’d been the same way with Damien, avoiding any touch that couldn’t be explained as platonic, only staying as close as he could justify in public. It didn’t matter how raunchy the conversation was—as long as the body language checked out, no one would suspect.

He’d done a lot of things to avoid suspicion throughout his life. Kept his eyes turned away, kept himself from making passes, made sure to only joke with the guys like they wanted to be joked with. Before he’d freelanced, back when he was paying off his mother’s debt to the Club, that had been important—some wet-behind-the-ears enforcer was expected to follow in the footsteps of his older, wiser gangster mentors.  They’d let him watch for cops, and then showed him how to break a man’s legs so badly he’d never walk again.

And they wouldn’t have hesitated to use that bat on him too, if they’d suspected. Aiden was very, very good at reading people, and reading a room. He’d figured that out faster than they’d figured out him, and then it hadn’t mattered because he’d broken those ties and fixers didn’t get friendly long enough for it to matter.

These kids grinding up on each other in public, they didn’t understand that tight-rope of anxiety. Couldn’t understand what it had meant for him to find Damien at all; for all the man’s faults, he’d been a gateway to better things, to something other than hurried, secretive handjobs in bar bathrooms. That unrealized fear, it twisted something inside of him, leaving him wrong-footed in every situation he should be comfortable in—without the bits of affection Damien had deigned to give him, he wouldn’t have found what little balance he had.

‘Too straight to be a proper gay man,’ Damien had called him once, mockingly, after they’d fought about it. The worst part was that he’d been right.

Maybe that was the real reason it had taken him months to realize he and Jordi were dating. Too long spent alone before Damien, too long spent alone after him. He hadn’t picked up on signals because he wasn’t calibrated for them, hadn’t realized which social cues meant Jordi was looking for something more. For months he’d been convincing himself that this was a temporary thing, out of fear and resignation, guarding himself against pain because Aiden didn’t know what he’d do if he lost someone he loved again.

And that, he realized, was the crux of the issue. He’d had fun with Damien, gotten into trouble with Damien, pushed his own boundaries and figured himself out with Damien, but he’d never loved him. Hell, at the end, he hadn’t even _liked_ Damien. Hadn’t been able to feel anything other than frustration and disgust with himself for getting his family mixed up in that mess in the first place.

He’d never loved Damien. Jordi… that was a dangerous, different answer entirely.

On the bright side, it wasn’t like he could kill his niece _twice_.

Aiden shifted his gaze over to a group of women who’d just gathered close by, most of them leaving their partners behind as they packed up to go back to their hotel rooms. Or to the next club. Given the way they were laughing, he was guessing it was the latter—this was step one, and they had limited time to explore the city. Too much to do, not enough hours to do it in.

He needed to stop thinking about this. Needed to stop trying to compare himself to people who’d never lived the life he’d lived—his feelings about Jordi weren’t going to change any time soon, so there was no point in dwelling on them. If it got him into a bad spot, he’d deal with that when it came.

Wouldn’t be the first time he’d flown by the seat of his pants, and at least Jordi was honest. When things went wrong, _if_ things went wrong, it would just be the two of them. He could take that fight.

“So, are you ogling the nubile youths all grinding up on each other, or are you moping? It’s kind of hard to tell from a distance.” Jordi’s voice broke into his thoughts over the heavy beat of the music, a welcome distraction. When Aiden turned, he was holding out a beer, a glass of whiskey in his other hand as he kept himself angled to make space between the excited clubgoers.

“Did you get lost on the way to the bar?” he asked in return, taking his beer with relief. Easier to ignore his own head when Jordi was here—even if he _wasn’t_ moping. He didn’t mope.

“Yeah, go fuck yourself. It’s a goddamn zoo over there. I tipped the bartender some fat cash because _I_ sure wouldn’t want to be in that mess.” Jordi’s body was warm and heavy where it pressed into him and closed the gap, the crisp lines of his suit jacket only slightly marred by the way he draped himself over Aiden. “So, how are you feeling about the club scene here? Fucking madhouse. You could bring the whole place down with one well-placed speaker and a nudlevideo playlist of gunfights.”

That was true enough. Aiden filed it away for later; distractions played over unlocked cellphones had served him well before, and the clubs here might have wireless access to their sound systems too. Good way to cause some havoc for any daring escapes they needed to try.

Not that they would need any daring escapes tonight, but Jordi liked to be prepared. Aiden could see the merits of it, even if he was more interested in seeing the way Jordi’s body fit against his. Especially here, and now, when he could use that to drive away the bitter isolation that wanted to creep up into him.

Another group of partiers pushed past them, giving him an excuse to press up closer to Jordi, his free hand dropping to squeeze at Jordi’s ass where no one could see it. “Remind me why we’re here again?”

“In my defense, I forgot that these clubs are a shitshow,” Jordi said, sipping at his whiskey with a grimace. The music was getting louder, and it sounded like a different DJ had come on. “Why _are_ we here?”

Aiden laughed, tipping his beer back as he rocked into Jordi’s side. “ _I’m_ doing recon for my next job. I’m trying to figure out how many, what did you call them, _nubile youths_ will be between me and my guy. _You’re_ here to get me drinks.”

“Demoted to waiter, huh? Yeah, your next beer is getting spit in, just so you know.” Despite the mock outrage in his voice, Jordi’s body was still relaxed against his, his glass already half empty as he took another long sip.

A table near them opened up, the women grabbing their purses as their dates grabbed at them, all of them half-stumbling as they went deeper into the crowd. Nobody moved in to take it immediately, but Jordi half-shifted them closer to it and downed the last of his whiskey in one go, clunking his glass on the tabletop.

“How’s the recon going anyways?” Jordi asked, sliding a hand over Aiden’s hip, his fingers hot where they pressed into the black silk of his shirt. There was a wicked glint in his eyes, like he was planning something, and Aiden’s own palm flattened over the muscular curve of Jordi’s ass under his slacks.

“I’ve seen a couple interesting things,” Aiden said, mouth dry. Jordi’s body was so close and despite the noise and the people around them, it was hard to remember they were in public.

This was the moment where he would normally back out—would push Jordi’s hand away, would tell Damien to knock it off, would pull himself back out of worry that someone would figure him out. He’d done it a thousand times, and if he pulled away, Jordi would let him. No point in causing a scene, and Jordi was reticent with affection too in his own bizarre, antisocial way.

But it wasn’t like there was anyone here who could recognize him. He was as anonymous as he was ever going to be, just another body in the crowd. Who would notice? Who would _care_?

Aiden dropped his empty bottle down on the table, then hauled Jordi’s hips closer as he leaned in to kiss him. From the soft grunt, Jordi hadn’t been expecting that, but he responded almost instantly, his lips hot and hungry against Aiden’s as he pushed them both deeper into the crush of people.

Everyone else around them was just as occupied, the heavy beat of the music keeping them moving and distracted. Against him, Jordi stiffened and broke the kiss, half turning like he wanted to move away. His hands were still tight on Aiden’s hips though, not pushing him off yet. His attention wasn’t completely gone, and Aiden wasn’t about to lose it now.

He dragged Jordi into a recently vacated space against the wall, shoving his hands up under the other man’s jacket. Tempting to undo those buttons on his shirt too, to get skin against skin, but they were already skirting the edge of propriety like this, and it wouldn’t take much to get them kicked out if one of those bouncers decided to come this direction. On the other hand, there was probably at least one bathroom they could find, even if it meant hunting out an employee entrance somewhere. Aiden was _good_ at that.

Jordi’s thigh pressed between his legs, his hands dragging over the denim of Aiden’s jeans, and his beard brushed against the line of Aiden’s jaw as he pressed them closer still. His lips were hot against the shell of his ear as he whispered, “I spotted someone who owes me money.”

The words didn’t register at first, Aiden’s thoughts too fogged by arousal, but then he stiffened and settled his hands back on Jordi’s hips. His heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now, and he turned his own head to ask, “Where?”

There were a couple unwritten rules in the fixer community. Which crime bosses to piss off and which ones to steer clear of if you were a flaky contractor. Who you could turn your back on. Who was too dangerous to even start working for. The Viceroys had been the last one, but the Club had been reliable enough… if you didn’t mind them owning you completely once you’d started. There were rules the other way too, which groups could be relied on, which ones couldn’t—a fixer’s reputation was as important as the reputations of the people that hired them. It was a dance in some ways, the community shifting and evolving as new players entered the mix.

But the golden rule, the _important_ rule, was simple: never stiff the guy you hired to kill someone.

Schmidt had made that mistake, and he would have died for it even if Aiden hadn’t been gunning for him already. Whoever this idiot was that Jordi knew would die for it too—unless there was a reason to think he’d pay up out of fear. But that wasn’t likely; the sort of guy who was dumb enough to stiff a fixer that specialized in assassination was the sort of guy who thought he was smarter than everyone else and could cheat his way out of the consequences too. He wouldn’t pay up, not when he could try and weasel his way out of this.

“Headed to the door, though the girl on his arm isn’t too keen on it.” Jordi’s thigh pressed in harder and Aiden sucked in a breath through his teeth, hips twitching. “So _I’m_ thinking, we scrap this horse and pony show and get down to something a little more… personal.”

It was a terrible idea. Jordi’s party was _tomorrow_ , he couldn’t afford to be spotted, and Aiden only had his pistol and tactical baton on him. If this idiot had any sort of security on him, they could be in deep shit very quick. And it wasn’t like Jordi was going to get his money back over it.

A stupid, awful, senseless idea. Aiden pulled his hands off Jordi’s waist and grabbed his face instead, kissing him hard and dirty as he rolled their hips together. When he finally broke away, he licked his lips slowly and breathed, “Lead the way.”

Jordi laughed, low and vicious, then pushed away from him, heading for the exit. Aiden stuck close behind him, navigating through the crowd as he tried to pick out the guy Jordi had spotted. Too many people, and none of their profiles were jumping out at him when he tugged his phone out. He’d have to rely on Jordi for this one.

The loss of control shouldn’t have been exciting, and yet Aiden felt like a kid in a candy shop, wired up on too many sweets.

The crowds didn’t filter out as they left, the casino floor even busier than it had been when they arrived. But they weren’t very _mobile_ crowds, which meant Aiden was able to spot their mark as Jordi slowed down, keeping pace with the man.

A hedge fund manager with a couple allegations of assault to his name. Nothing that he’d been arrested for, all of them dropped without going to court, but enough to make a smart man suspicious. A widower too, very recently, who’d come into a handy bit of money from his wife’s life insurance policy. Car accident. Very tragic.

Aiden glanced up from his phone to the line of Jordi’s shoulders. He could guess what the job had been—and roughly how much money Jordi was out.

“He didn’t take a car,” he said conversationally, ctOS helpfully providing information about the man’s travel history. A lot of the newer casinos, not so many of the ones popular with an older crowd. Probably didn’t want to risk a girlfriend who actually knew to look past the money.

“Isn’t that convenient? Tell me if anyone is at the tram station.” Jordi’s tone was equally light, their voices low enough and the casino loud enough that no one would be able to hear them. The crowds thinned the deeper into the hall they got, most of the people at this casino more interested in taking a cab than making the trek up three stories of stairs.

Aiden flicked through the cameras, checking all the angles on that tight little alleyway. No direct lines of sight, which was inconvenient at the moment, but no one else around as far as he could tell. That lack of sightlines would be useful once they were outside.

“You’re clear. No working cameras behind the stairs either, they start up about twenty feet away as the alley lets out into a delivery area. Empty.” His fingers itched for his gun. He contented himself with stealing as much money from the man’s phone as he could.

His companion had dropped off somewhere in the casino, not so interested in heading home with him just yet. He was all alone, the only one heading for the train station, and he was just drunk enough to not think for a second about the two well-dressed men behind him.

The doors to the casino swung shut behind them, cutting off the last filtered sound from the floor. It was replaced with the sound of cars on the highway, fainter but still echoing as it bounced off the broad, blank walls of the alley. Aiden glanced up at the camera that should have been recording this spot and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully—offline. Someone must have cut the lines at some point. They’d be fixed by tomorrow, that was for sure.

Jordi whistled once, sharply, and increased his speed. The hedge fund manager looked around in confusion—and then, when it was too late to run, recognition. He tried to run anyways.

The crunch of his face meeting the pavement was satisfying to hear. Aiden didn’t bother speeding up, keeping his stride slow and casual. Jordi had his man well in hand, the poor bastard wheezing softly as he was dragged behind the stairs—must have gotten a good hit on his throat too, just to make sure he wouldn’t scream.

A good person would feel bad about this, but Aiden wasn’t inclined to sympathize with a wife-beater. He pulled out his tactical baton, then shrugged out of his jacket, holding it out for Jordi as he stepped under the stairs too.

“Won’t show as much on my clothes as yours,” he said when Jordi gave his jacket a look. “Figure I can teach him the lesson—it’s not like you’re going to get much of a workout here anyways.”

The man whimpered. Jordi considered his offer, then slung the jacket over one arm and gestured for Aiden to go forward. “Hey, so long as he’s not around to finger me after. None of that blunt force trauma sans death shit you pulled back in Chicago.”

“Don’t worry, I know how much you hate being fingered,” Aiden said dryly, rolling up his sleeves. With a flick of his wrist, the baton extended, black and ominous in the dim lighting under the stairs. He’d have to make it quick, but ‘quick’ and ‘gentle’ weren’t even in the same ballpark.

Legs first so he couldn’t run. The bones of his knees and shins crumpled under the weight of Aiden’s baton, a muted scream tearing free from his throat. Aiden punched him, leaving the man struggling to breathe as he feebly tried to push him away, then punched him again just because it felt good.

Managing funds wasn’t very physical work. Jordi’s man was all skinny flailing limbs and soft fat over what little muscle he had, offering almost no resistance under the metal of Aiden’s baton and the bones of his knuckles. His ribs cracked, arm bones shattering, collar bone crunching under the weight of Aiden’s blows, until he wasn’t even whimpering anymore.

Still breathing though. And the trains here ran pretty fast. Aiden slammed the base of his baton into the man’s temple three times, blood spurting as his skull collapsed under the blows, and then the breathing stopped.

He stepped back, wiping his face on the rolled up section of his sleeve. Black had been a good idea—the silk soaked up the blood with some resistance, but it didn’t show anything more than some dark damp spots. If he were wearing a lighter shirt, that wouldn’t have been the case. This angle was a good one to hide the body from, but someone would stumble on it eventually, so he ought to fix the cameras to make sure that it wasn’t obvious who’d done it.

Aiden crouched down, tugging the guy’s wallet out and pulling out all the cash, then tossed it as far away as he could. Give the LVPD something to work with. Let them have some fun.

“You know, if you weren’t covered in blood, I would’ve had your mouth on my cock three minutes ago,” Jordi said conversationally from his position keeping watch by the stairs.

With a bark of laughter, Aiden stood up again and wiped his hands off on his jeans. But when he looked up, Jordi wasn’t laughing with him—there was a focused look on his face, like something had caught his attention and there was no way it could shake it. Directed at him.

His mouth went dry again. Aiden rubbed his face one last time, hoping that he wasn’t just smearing the blood around, and tried not to let that show as he asked, “Violence get you hot or something?”

“It’s a lot better up close, I won’t lie. Watching you beat the shit out of some fucking moron through the scope is great, don’t get me wrong, but when I could just shove you down right here and fuck you the way you deserve, it’s harder to resist.” Jordi held up a hand, finger and thumb curled to show just how little self-restraint he had left.

“You know, if you helped me get my face clean—” Aiden started, his mouth going without permission from his brain.

Jordi cut him off before he could get himself into trouble, shoving his leather jacket back into his arms. “Not in an alleyway, you goddamn animal. At least, not in an alleyway next to a body I don’t want to be associated with. We’ll find a different street for you to scrape your knees on.”

Aiden snorted, but pulled his jacket on, pulling his phone out to check his face. Nothing noticeable. He swapped from the camera to one of his access points, following Jordi up the stairs before heading to the ctOS box tucked away. The casino cameras weren’t accessible from this one, but the cameras on this station were—he wiped the last twelve hours of data, then set it to erase the next twelve too. If they went hunting on the casino cameras, his face was blurred, and Jordi’s data was wiped. There was nothing technically connecting them to this anyways.

Which was a good thing, because he wasn’t about to go hunting for access to the casino cameras. Not when he was sternly reminding his body that Jordi had said _not now_ , and they had at least thirty minutes of travel time between here and their suite in the hotel. They weren’t going to stick around long enough to make the extra effort worthwhile.

He disconnected from the ctOS box and went to stand by Jordi as the train pulled in. A group of laughing, drunken twenty-somethings spilled out, calling out to each other as they stumbled down the stairs, leaving the train car empty.

As he stepped in, Jordi’s hand slid up his back and into his hair, fingers tightening until pain shot down from his scalp straight to his dick.

“Remind me to reward you when we get back. You deserve it.”


	6. break point_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up six months late with Starbucks*
> 
> YEAH. LIFE HAPPENED A BIT.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to Vindart, because they got some good ass art and y'all should go check it out. (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ Warnings for breathplay, collaring, flogging, and boundary pushing, tags updated to match.

**April 15th, 2017, 21:52**

 

His back hit the door with a thud, Jordi’s hands working their way into his jeans as Aiden tried to unlock the door without being able to see it. Jordi’s mouth was hard and demanding against his own, tongue thrusting between his teeth as the keycard slipped between his fingers. He managed to get the card into the doorknob, then tumbled back into their suite as the door swung open, Jordi’s grip on him the only thing keeping him upright.

“Fuck,” Aiden gasped, grabbing Jordi’s shirt for balance as the other man kicked the door closed. “You know, the bedroom is _right there_.”

Jordi hummed an acknowledgment into his skin, then kissed him again, twisting them so that Aiden was up against a wall now, legs spread wide around Jordi’s thighs.

They’d kept their hands to themselves on the way back to the hotel, but it had been a near thing—Jordi’s grip on his shoulder had been too tight, while Aiden had struggled to keep his own hands out of Jordi’s pants. The moment they’d hit the elevator, the thin thread of resistance had snapped, all their self-control fleeing the second the doors were closed behind them. Jordi had kissed him like he was starving, and Aiden’s mouth was the last food on earth, like he was there to be devoured, like he was a final meal before execution.

The speed of the elevators was the only thing that had saved him from trying to blow Jordi right then and there, damn anyone else who might walk in.

With a groan, he pushed his hands up under Jordi’s jacket, shoving it back as he went to work on the buttons of his shirt. Jordi’s hands disappeared long enough to shrug the jacket off completely then came back with a vengeance, yanking Aiden’s shirt out of his pants and forcing his jeans and underwear down.

“Shoes,” Jordi breathed into his mouth, nails digging into the meat of Aiden’s ass as he shoved his thighs further apart. He didn’t give Aiden a chance to respond, biting into his mouth and slamming him back against the wall again. Aiden’s hands grew more frantic, the only thing keeping him from ripping Jordi’s shirt off being the knowledge that Jordi would _really_ kill him if he did.

He kicked his shoes off, one and then the other, sending them flying into the suite without any care for where they landed. His breath came in harsh, ragged pants, a needy groan breaking free when Jordi’s clothed erection ground against his own newly freed dick, the fabric rough against his skin. There was no air between them, and every time it felt like he might be able to get a little oxygen, Jordi’s mouth was there instead. Suffocating him. _Claiming_ him.

Jordi’s shirt finally came undone, Aiden’s hands jerking the silk free from Jordi’s slacks and then diving underneath it. The skin under his palms was searing hot, burning him as he pushed Jordi’s undershirt up, painful with how badly Aiden wanted Jordi’s naked body on his. There wasn’t enough of Jordi on display yet, they were both wearing too many fucking clothes, and that was a problem he needed to fix _five minutes ago_.

Aiden pulled his hands away as Jordi leaned back to shrug out of his shirts, letting Aiden handle himself. After the torture of Jordi’s buttons, his own shirt was easy to get off, bloody black silk dumped on the ground in a heap, his leather jacket already crumpled on the floor. Some of the blood had dried on his skin, staining it in little splotches where the silk had pressed into his chest on the ride back.

From the way Jordi’s eyes darkened with hunger, it was a good look on him.

“Like something you see?” Aiden asked, pants halfway down his thighs and cock hard. Normally he’d feel like an idiot, but with Jordi’s eyes on him like this, all he could think of was how badly he’d wanted to go down on him in that alleyway, just for the thrill of it.

“You know where you need to be?” Jordi asked, already undoing his belt and snapping the leather between his hands. “You need to be on your fucking knees, where you belong, because I think it’s about time for that reward I promised.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Without any regard for their neighbors, Aiden dropped to the floor with a thud, knees still spread around Jordi’s ankles. The waist of his jeans dug painfully into his thighs, but he didn’t move to shove his pants off—if Jordi wanted him completely naked, he’d have said. And right now, the burn of denim fed into the heat under his skin, Jordi’s hands forcing their way into his hair and pulling, all of it working to remind him of who he belonged to.

“Three taps if I need air,” Aiden remembered to say, his hands sliding up the backs of Jordi’s thighs for balance.

“Both hands if you need me to stop,” Jordi agreed before grinding his cock against Aiden’s face, the thick length smearing precum over the smoothly shaved skin of his cheek. He turned his head as much as Jordi’s hands would allow, tongue dragging over the shaft as he let his mouth fall open in invitation.

Rather than take advantage of that immediately, Jordi continued to grind against his face, occasionally teasing the head of his dick over Aiden’s lips. It was torture, pleading moans catching in the back of his throat as he gripped the fabric of Jordi’s slacks tighter, his own hips twitching with every lazy roll of Jordi’s. The grip on his hair was just tight enough that Aiden couldn’t even move, either forward or away, and finally he gasped, “Jordi, _please_.”

The response was instant, Jordi hauling his head back as he lined himself up to Aiden’s mouth, thrusting in with a single, hard motion that made him choke. His fingers clutched frantically at Jordi’s legs, tears springing to his eyes, but Jordi’s hands were unmoving on the back of his skull. There was a brief, blessed second where Aiden could breathe as Jordi pulled out, and then it was gone, Jordi’s cock unrelenting as it drove into his throat.

Even that tiny respite was enough to give him his bearings though, and Aiden let his eyes flutter shut as he concentrated on swallowing around the length buried in his throat. His tongue pressed up tight against the vein on the underside, working it as Jordi began to thrust. He could catch short, sharp breaths through his nose, but never quite enough to make up for how badly he needed air.

The pain along his thighs melded in with the ache in his knees, his throat, the bright sparks of hurt across his scalp with every tug of Jordi’s fists. When Jordi’s cock bumped the back of his throat, Aiden could feel it in his own cock, a feedback loop that left his ears ringing faintly and static building under his skin.

Air was becoming an issue—his fingers itched to move on Jordi’s legs, just a quick breath, because he was allowed to ask, he wouldn’t get in trouble—but Aiden wouldn’t let himself ask for it. He wanted to do this, wanted Jordi to come down his throat without ever needing to pull out, wanted to prove that he could take everything Jordi gave and more. If he could hold out just a little longer, he could do it. All he needed to do was ride it out, the black flood trying to creep in around the edges of his thoughts held back by sheer force of will alone.

Without warning, Jordi pulled out entirely, the vacuum his cock left quickly replaced by oxygen as Aiden gasped. The gasp turned into a choking cough, his lungs burning as the heady rush of adrenaline slammed into him, a wave of endorphins hot on its heels. The grip on his hair was still tight enough to hurt, but he could barely register the sensation past the pleasure that left him blind, his entire body shaking with how hard he came.

It took him a couple seconds to blink his eyes open again, breathing raggedly as he looked up. At some point, his grip on Jordi’s thighs had slipped, leaving his hands limply clutching at silk-covered calves. Jordi’s eyes were narrowed as he considered Aiden critically, his erection still thick and dark just out of reach.

“Wh—” Aiden coughed, swallowed, throat raw and aching, “Why’d you—?”

“Because you were three seconds from passing out,” Jordi said, the faint flush on his cheeks and roughness in his own voice betraying him despite his cool, distant tones.

“I can—” Aiden started to say, cutting off with a gasp when Jordi yanked his hair harshly. Despite the fact that he was nowhere near able to get hard again, his dick made a valiant attempt, a shiver of want threading through him.

“Shh, I’m thinking.” The fingers in his hair tugged again, then slowly started to untangle themselves. He didn’t know what was happening or why, but he stayed quiet. Jordi had asked him to, and right now, making Jordi happy was the most important thing in the world.

Jordi shifted and stepped away, patting Aiden’s cheek gently when he made a soft noise of confusion. This was off the script for him, everything shifting sideways when he wasn’t able to think clearly. If it weren’t for the fact that he trusted Jordi—implicitly, explicitly, in every way that matters—he’d be trying to figure out what went wrong.

“Alright, so,” Jordi said, fingers sliding into Aiden’s hair again and yanking hard enough to make him moan, “we’re going to do something a little different. I’m warning you now, so you have the chance to opt out. But _you_ told me you’d let me know if you needed air, and you didn’t.”

“Sorry,” he gasped, not feeling sorry at all. He’d almost done it—he could tell by how hard Jordi was, by the precum still dribbling down his length, that only a few seconds longer and he’d have been swallowing it all down.

“You’re really not. But that’s alright, we can address that. I’m going to grab something and then sit on the couch, and _you’re_ going to go wait for me over there with your pants off. You still need to finish me off, but I’m putting more rules on it this time.” Jordi’s fingers dragged through his hair a few more times, and then he was walking away, stopping only long enough to grab his belt off the floor.

Aiden didn’t know what any of that meant, but he fumbled his way out of his pants anyways. His hands were shaking, a bone-deep tremble that wouldn’t leave, and his legs wobbled as he stood and made his way to the couch, stepping over the piles of clothes they’d dropped all around them.

His skin was too sensitive, the cool drafts from the air conditioning sending goosebumps over his body, and his head was full of cotton. Maybe fog. Something that made his thoughts slower and all the usual anxieties far away—whatever Jordi was planning, it didn’t worry him. He was coming _back_ , and that was all that mattered.

Jordi’s warm hand dragged over the back of his neck as he returned, and then he thumped onto the couch, legs half spread. His slacks were still on, the fly open with his cock out, but he’d lost his shoes and socks in the bedroom. The belt was wrapped around Jordi’s other hand, fingers curled around the handle of the flogger that Aiden hadn’t seen since that first night.

A quiver of uneasiness rolled through his gut, but a gentle touch on the side of his head banished it.

“What you’re going to do,” Jordi said, voice smooth and rich now, “is worship my cock. But I’m going to have this belt around your neck, so I can tug you off if I need to, and I’m going to be flogging you for that little breach of conduct earlier. When you promise to tell me something, it means I want you to tell me something. Understand?”

The uneasiness returned, but it was hard for him to remember why the flogger made him so uncomfortable when Jordi was touching him like this. Aiden mulled the terms over, then turned his head to press a kiss to Jordi’s palm. “I understand. Green.”

A lazy, pleased grin unfolded across Jordi’s face as he spread his legs wider for Aiden to fit himself between, thumb rubbing over the shell of Aiden’s ear encouragingly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Jordi pulled his hand away as Aiden ran his own over Jordi’s thighs, up to his hips, his stomach, touching all the wonderfully powerful muscles hidden under pale skin and dark hair. Above him, Jordi wrapped the belt around his neck, cool leather pressing into his throat as it tightened just enough to be noticeable. Then one hand moved to cup the back of his head encouragingly, the other shifting to grab the flogger that had been left resting on the couch next to them.

He swallowed, just to feel the way the belt pressed into his neck, not quite cutting off his air. Jordi had said ‘worship’, which meant he wanted more than just a blowjob. It meant he wanted Aiden to put his money where his mouth was and _show him_ why he’d been so willing to suffocate on Jordi’s cock.

Carefully, he kissed up the length of Jordi’s shaft, curling his tongue around the head, the heady taste of come making him moan softly. The hand on the back of his head kneaded gently, blunt nails scratching at his scalp, and Jordi let out an encouraging hum as Aiden dragged one of his own hands down to curl around the base of Jordi’s cock. He was hyperaware of that touch, just like he was hyperaware of the whisper-soft brush of leather strips along his shoulders, the gentle threat making tension coil low in his gut.

Jordi let him agonize over it, teasing with the flogger until he was trembling and pressed as close as he could be. It was to the point where Aiden was almost positive that this wasn’t going to go beyond teasing—and then he gasped as pain flashed across his shoulders, two times, three, a half dozen sudden lightning strikes on his skin before Jordi was done and back to teasing again.

His gasps took on an edge of a whine, but the pain was already fading. The fingers in his hair dragged harder, pushing his head down, and Aiden took the reminder the way it was meant. This time, he didn’t bother gently teasing Jordi in return, taking his cock into his mouth with a groan.

The strikes were random, never the same number of them, never a properly timed interval between them. His hand moved on Jordi’s cock with desperation, lips wrapped around the head as he sucked hard. When he tried to go too far, take it all in at once and choke on it, the hand in his hair slid down to tug on the belt. A reminder that they were doing this at _Jordi’s_ pace, not his own.

The flogger was light enough, sharp enough a pain that it didn’t dredge up bad memories, but the more it was used, the duller the pain became. The duller the pain, the less he was capable of handling it—overwhelming in a bad way, and he was so close to pulling away and calling a different color when Jordi dropped the flogger and hissed his name, spilling into his mouth.

Aiden moaned in relief, swallowing as Jordi’s hands slid over his shoulders, the calluses on his palms rough against the welts the flogger left behind. He let Jordi’s cock fall and pressed his face into Jordi’s stomach, breathing hard through his nose, less like he’d just had sex and more like he’d just run a marathon. If his shakes had been bad before, they were worse now, a quake that went down to his core, leaving him shuddering.

“You did so good for me, Aiden,” Jordi crooned, urging him up onto the couch and into his lap. “I know how hard that was for you, and fuck if you didn’t do so much better than I thought you would. You did good.”

Aiden shuddered, pressing into the heat of Jordi’s body as he found the other man’s mouth. He’d gone from having a head full of cotton to feeling strung out, like Jordi had actually flayed the skin off his bones and poured his own desires into the gaps left behind. Tongue to tongue, lips to lips, Jordi’s mouth and hands the only thing keeping him moored right now.

When they finally broke apart, Jordi sighed and pressed their foreheads together. “Pick one for me, heads or tails.”

“Tails,” Aiden said, voice rough as he took a shaky breath, the leather against his throat body-warm now.

“Mm, massage it is then. Probably better for your back anyways, I don’t know if hot water might irritate those lovely marks you’ve got springing up.” Jordi’s hands slid up, fumbling with the buckle for a second before undoing the belt from around his neck.

“That sounds good,” he managed, trying not to feel bereft at the loss of his makeshift collar. That wasn’t even something he thought he’d _like_. Was it just because it helped ground him the way Jordi’s body did?

“You’ll have to get off me for that,” Jordi said, making no move to push Aiden away. Instead, he ran his thumbs up the line of Aiden’s jaw, hands replacing the pressure of the collar as his lips worked their way across the smooth curve of Aiden’s cheek.

The silk of Jordi’s slacks was soft against his thighs, warm like the rest of Jordi’s body. Aiden wanted to stay there forever, wrapped around Jordi and kissing him slowly, but that wasn’t going to happen. If he wanted his massage—and he _did_ want that massage, wanted Jordi’s hands all over him and kneading him into shape—he had to get up. So he peeled himself off of Jordi’s chest, standing on weak legs while he waited to catch his balance.

Jordi followed him up, hands on Aiden’s hips to keep him steady, then turned him towards the bedroom. His legs hadn’t stopped shaking by the time they reached the mattress, but it stopped mattering, the sheets cool under his chest and arms as he settled down on them. Warm hands touched his thighs, his back, shifting him until he was set up just how Jordi wanted.

For a second, it was like he was in three timelines at once—the first time Jordi had rubbed him down, the warmth of Jordi’s arm around his waist during his nap earlier, and this time, Aiden’s entire world still slightly off kilter, everything slanted in a way that was unnerving. Not upsetting, not yet, but not comfortable either. Close enough to the edge that Aiden didn’t know which side he’d land on when he fell.

The drag of palms down his spine brought him back to the moment, Aiden inhaling slowly to the pull of skin on skin. Jordi moved carefully, spilling oil over his back, working it into the welts left behind by the flogger. His thumbs smoothed out the remaining sting, the heel of his hands grinding into the muscles to draw out any deeper aches, and Aiden let himself drift under Jordi’s capable touch.

Eventually, he was able to find his voice again, soft and low with exhaustion. “I almost called red.”

“Mm,” Jordi hummed, firmly working out a knot in one of Aiden’s shoulders. “Not yellow? You could pull your mouth away at any time.”

“It was okay, and then it almost wasn’t,” he said, eyes closed and face pressed into the pillow. It smelled like Jordi, like both of them, comforting and rich with the scent of Jordi’s favored shampoo.

“Alright. You almost called red, which is good—it meant you trusted it to work. Walk me through your head right now, Aiden.” Jordi’s hands moved lower, focusing on his ribs and sides, his voice gentle. Soothing. Easy to trust.

Once upon a time, Aiden would have found that suspicious, but he’d figured Jordi out by now. “Not sure. It’s a bit… Empty. Not the usual kind of empty, where it feels good and I can ride it out when you’re not there to fill it back up, but hollow empty. Kind where you aren’t around after.”

“Is this something you get a lot when I’m not around, or is it new?”

“It’s a mix. Depends on what we do, and depends on how long you’re away before we do… this.” Aiden sighed softly as Jordi’s hands ran down his spine again, smoothing out the muscles underneath his skin. “If you’re around, it’s not so bad.”

“Huh.” Jordi’s hands settled on his ass, cupping the muscle there and shaping the curve of it. “You know, Damien didn’t realize what he had with you.”

Aiden grunted, rather than answering. The last thing he wanted to think about was Damien, not when he still had that hollow ache in his bones.

“I mean, big masc subs like you, they’re a dime a dozen in the fixer world—the gay thing’s a bit of a novelty though, I’ll admit. Most guys in the business have their weird fucking kinks. But you’ve got this whole _devotion_ thing, and I don’t think he ever realized that. Dipshit probably wouldn’t have played stupid games for stupid prizes if he had.” Jordi’s voice was distant and thoughtful, hands sliding back up to Aiden’s shoulders where tension was trying to build again.

“I can’t tell if this is praise or what, Jordi,” Aiden muttered, breathing in the smell of Jordi all around him and trying to let that ease the anxiety clawing at his gut.

“I’m just thinking out loud. How was the punishment part? Putting aside the flogging, just focusing on being reprimanded, how did you feel? Went more controlled this time.” Thumbs against the base of his neck, Jordi’s fingers pressing hard enough that the muscles in his shoulders couldn’t tense at all. Like he was forcing Aiden’s body to comply. Strange how that made him feel better.

“It was good.” It was always good, one of his favorite things about sex with Jordi. Pushing back and getting hurt for it, just to the edge of too much—it’d been a little more formal this time, but no less familiar for all that. “You know I like that part. It’s on your list, right?”

Jordi snorted, kneading his hands into Aiden’s shoulders until he groaned. “Yeah, it’s on my list. Alright, floggers off the table, punishment is still on so… Knife play. That’s the next thing we’re trying. In a place with my own sheets, because you’re gonna be bleeding, but in the meantime, the wax will do.”

Fire on his skin and Jordi’s cock in his ass—yeah, Aiden wouldn’t mind playing with the wax again. He snorted softly, then shifted to roll underneath Jordi’s thighs. Jordi gave him a final squeeze and let go, bracing his hands against the headboard instead as Aiden turned to face him.

His slacks were still on, low around his hips and fly undone, and his dark hair was mussed. They’d never turned on the lights in the bedroom, but enough filtered in through the blinds and the front room that he could see Jordi’s cheekbones and the muscular curve of his chest where he was bent over Aiden. He was the most beautiful thing Aiden had ever seen, like something that could have been carved out of marble a few hundred years ago.

“Hey,” he said, unable to keep himself from reaching for Jordi.

“Hi,” Jordi said with a grin, leaning in to kiss him, heavy in all the best ways.

Dangerous, because Jordi was right on the money when he’d called Aiden _devoted_ in that thoughtful tone of voice. But there was no looking back now—he’d made his choice, and he was sticking to it. Always looking forward. That was the promise he’d made to himself before he left Chicago.

He could trust Jordi with his life. He’d learn to trust him with his heart too.

 


	7. hypoxia_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that Aiden gets triggered all to shit in the beginning of this, so there's some sideways references to historical emotional abuse.

**April 16th, 2017, 16:20**

 

Steam fogged up the mirror bad enough that he couldn’t see anything, which meant shaving was off the table for now. Showering together would have taken longer than showering separately, he knew that, but _Jordi_ had taken the first shower—which meant Jordi had actually gotten to clean up properly before going off to doll himself up in whatever fancier suit he was wearing tonight. And sure, he had his beard to properly trim, but Aiden wanted to get a look at his neck to make sure, _again_ , that there weren’t any bruises.

Not that he would mind if there were. But they’d mark him as off, other, and he needed to be able to blend in with the crowd this time.

With a sigh, he dragged on his briefs and an undershirt, raking his fingers through his hair to feel how damp it was. That was like, movie-star rakish, right? Close enough. He didn’t usually care enough about his appearance to pay attention—the only times he really went to places full of rich dipshits, he trusted his clothes to draw attention away from himself. He’d do it this time too, but Jordi was a lot more finicky about the details.

Shaving could wait. He’d just pull on the shirt and jacket after he was done.

His suit was laid out on the bed, plastic covering gone—Jordi must have taken care of that. The card he’d spotted earlier was still pinned to the front lapel of the jacket, conspicuously white against the black silk. Curious, he tugged it off, setting the safety pin to the side. The front was clean and elegant, the name of the shop on the front with Michel’s full name neatly printed underneath it. On the back was a handwritten number.

An offer for him to come back if he needed repairs or another suit, maybe. Or an invitation into Jordi’s network? Hard to tell, with just a number. He grabbed his phone and plugged it in anyways, then set both down to pull on the slacks.

He hadn’t finished buttoning them on when Jordi walked into the room in the first black suit Aiden had ever seen him in. It was cut as perfectly as all of Jordi’s suits, but strangely impersonal on him. He’d always associated Jordi with color and shades of grey, not the pitch black of the average businessman.

His shirt was a red satin so dark it was almost black too, already tucked into Jordi’s slacks and buttoned to his throat, flashes of bright crimson at the folds when the light hit it just right. It was pretty impressive, Aiden would admit, and a hell of a lot classier than his own basic white shirt. Not something he’d wear, but definitely something he’d love to tear off Jordi later tonight.

“You’re not shaved. Why aren’t you shaved?” Jordi gave him a critical once over, then grabbed Aiden and steered him back into the bathroom before he could answer. “No, don’t worry about it, I’ll do it so I can style your hair too.”

“I’m a big boy, Jordi, I can do it myself once the mirror is clear,” Aiden said irritably, letting himself be pushed up against the counter anyways. Trust Jordi to be a mother hen about this.

“Mm, yeah, no, not gonna happen. We’re on a tight schedule, so I’m doing this now, and then you can finish getting dressed. Hold still.” Jordi grabbed the box with his straight razor, then worked up some foam with the absentminded speed of a man who’d done this a thousand times before.

Having a blade at his throat was enough to set his instincts on high alert, but Jordi was the one holding it. At this range, any arterial spray would absolutely ruin the satin, even if it barely showed on both of their pants. The likelihood of him ending up with his throat cut was so low that it might as well not exist.

And yet...

Jordi’s hands were steady as he dragged the blade over Aiden’s skin, careful as he traced the line of Aiden’s jaw, rinsing the foam off in the sink with every stroke. Aiden’s fingers curled around the counter tight enough to hurt, his eyes focused on a point somewhere past Jordi’s shoulder. It was unsettling to be the complete focus of Jordi’s attention like this, especially since there was nothing sexual about it—if he were naked, maybe this would feel more natural.

But he wasn’t, and Jordi’s fingers on his chin as he tipped Aiden’s head to the side were a mixture of coolly professional and warmly intimate, leaving his skin tingling in their wake.

Alright. Maybe Jordi wasn’t _intentionally_ sexual, but the glide of the razor on his skin was enough to make Aiden _feel_ like the whole situation deserved an R rating in the theater. If they’d showered together, he probably could have avoided all this, but as it was his breath came just a hint too quick. And when Jordi finished and rubbed his face down with a hot washcloth, his eyes fluttered shut for a second, savoring the heat more than he should.

“You done?” he asked, opening his eyes to Jordi’s shit-eating grin. Great.

“Yeah, I’m just enjoying the reminder that you’d fucking _love_ knife play. That is soaring to the top of things I want to try, just so you know.” Jordi patted his cheek affectionately, then grabbed a small container of hair wax. “Hold still, I’m making you look more ‘attractively disheveled’ and less ‘hobo in a suit’.”

“Yay me,” Aiden muttered, obediently tipping his head as Jordi raked his fingers through his hair, working the wax into the strands before adjusting it in chunks until he was satisfied. With a final, approving nod, Jordi spun on his heel and left once he was done.

The mirror was clear now, and his hair didn’t look completely stupid, so he’d take the small victory. There were still dark bruises under his eyes, but not as bad as they’d been yesterday—he’d finally gotten some sleep last night, for a few hours at least. No bruises at his neck, though there were a couple faint ones along his shoulders. It figured that he’d have reminders of the part he’d disliked, and not the one he’d loved.

Before he could start feeling mopey over goddamn sex trophies of all things, Aiden pushed himself off the bathroom counter and headed back into the room again. The suit jacket was still laid out on the bed, his white shirt tucked next to it, but Jordi had dropped off his belt and holster as well, a neat pair of shoes sitting next to them on the bed. The gun was in the front room, where they’d been cleaning everything and checking their weapons as they went over the plan again.

He tugged on the shirt, buttoning it up and tucking it into his slacks, then ran the belt through the loops to secure his holster at the small of his back after sliding the shoes on. The jacket settled easy on his shoulders, his movement in it as free as it had been at the tailor’s. It felt a heavier though, and he bounced it a couple times thoughtfully, checking the inner lining. Jordi hadn’t asked for kevlar, but maybe Michel had run some along the interior anyways. Lot of extra work for cheap. He’d have to thank the guy.

The pockets were already cut open when he checked if his hands fit in them, so he tucked his phone and wallet away before grabbing the tie. Black, like the suit, because he ‘wasn’t allowed to have colors yet’, whatever the hell that meant, but at least it wasn’t a bow tie. He was pretty sure he could manage this all on his own.

Five minutes later, he walked into the front room with the tie undone around his neck, ends sadly draped over his chest. “Alright, I haven’t done this since Lena’s funeral, I’m going to need some help here.”

“You’re absolutely useless, you know that?” Jordi stood up from the couch and walked over, slotting Aiden’s gun into his holster before grabbing his tie. Where Aiden’s fingers had been fumbling, Jordi’s were deft—he’d never seen the man in a tie, but apparently it was a skill Jordi hadn’t lost.

 _Jordi’s_ tie was white silk, a complicated layered knot at his throat as the rest of it disappeared into the black silk vest he was wearing over his shirt now. Unlike the jacket over the back of the couch and Jordi’s slacks, the vest had some of his personality in it, velvet designs etched into the silk in black voids only visible from the right angle. Just like his shirt.

Except unlike the shirt, Aiden couldn’t really appreciate the look of the vest. Stupid, because it helped frame the shape of Jordi’s chest in a way that showed off how thick the muscle was under his clothes, but… There was just something about it. Ugly, despite the fact that it was as fashionable as Jordi’s clothes usually were.

Familiar, despite the fact that he’d never seen the damn thing before now.

Jordi tightened the tie with a final, satisfied tug, laying it flat across Aiden’s chest. The knot on this one was a lot less complicated, for which Aiden was grateful. He didn’t need any of the extra bells and whistles Jordi seemed to like.

“There, perfect.” Jordi stepped away again, reaching down for his own gun. The back panels of the vest were free of ornamentation, which soothed Aiden’s jangling nerves a little, but he couldn’t stop trying to figure out why the front bothered him so much.

Was it that it didn’t fit Jordi’s usual look? Was it just that he hated the look of the velvet, when the shirt and tie were ostentatious enough to offset the plain black of everything else? Was it that he was _jealous_ , dumb as the thought was? There had to be something, even if it was just a lingering bit of resentment over the whole shaving fiasco, even if he hadn’t thought he was this upset until he’d seen the stupid fucking vest.

“Never seen you in one of those before,” Aiden said, aiming for bland as he checked his tactical baton before slotting it up against his gun. He must have missed the mark, because Jordi’s head snapped up like a shark scenting blood in the water, his dark eyes focusing in on Aiden with the same predatory attention.

“Yeah, I usually only wear them for formal occasions. What’s wrong?” Jordi’s voice was sharp, his body completely still in the same way a tiger went frozen in the jungle. With his mood already in the shitter, it was hard not to read that as an attack.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aiden said, tugging his shirt sleeves to make sure they were in place. He wasn’t about to take his eyes off Jordi, not when every instinct was screaming that there was a threat, but this was stupid. Not worth trying to get physically defensive over, so he forced himself to stay loose and easy.

“ _Something’s_ wrong, and it wasn’t five minutes ago. Is it the tie?” Jordi’s eyes narrowed. “Is it the _vest_?”

“It’s _nothing_ , you don’t have to worry about it.” Cigarettes. That was something he was missing, and they were on the balcony. He skirted around the back of the couch, finally tearing his eyes off Jordi as he stepped outside to grab them. “Just drop it.”

“Well, clearly it _is_ something I’ve got to worry about, because my partner is acting weird right before a pretty big fucking job. What the hell, Aiden?”

Still had six left, thank god, because he needed one now. The tie was too tight, jacket too heavy on his shoulders, and he _hated_ that too-familiar feeling of being on the defense in unsteady terrain. “It’s _fine_ , Da—”

He stopped, cigarette halfway to his lips, not enough air to breath even though he was outside.

“It’s fine, Jordi,” Aiden said softly a second later, trying not to flinch when he felt a hand slide up his spine and curl around the back of his neck. The afternoon heat wasn’t enough to leech the cold from his bones, and there was the faintest tremble in his fingers as he lit his cigarette.

“Not a fan of the vest, then,” Jordi said, his own voice gentle instead of probing. “Haven’t seen you like this since Tampa. Are you good to do this thing tonight?”

“ _Jordi_ —” he started to snap, turning to glare, but the expression on Jordi’s face stopped him. It wasn’t pity, or sympathy, or the sneering smugness Damien usually wore. It was that same cool calculating expression Jordi always wore when he was trying to assess a situation, the tightness at the edges of his eyes the only hint that something else was going on underneath.

No judgement, just a simple question. If there was one thing Jordi was good at, it was taking the emotion out of a job.

Aiden forced his shoulders to relax, leaning into the hand on his neck and engraving Jordi’s face into his memories. _Jordi_ , not Damien, who was long dead by now. Just because he’d fallen into old habits and old routines didn’t mean this was the usual cat and mouse game he was remembering.

If he said ‘no’, Jordi would go do his job tonight without him, and wouldn’t hold it against him for sitting this out—not for long, anyways, not longer than a passing irritation couldn’t account for. Jordi wouldn’t hold it over his head, would let him pay back the favor in his own time, and wasn’t going to let his own emotions about the situation fuck up the reality of a job with a damaged asset on his side.

He took a long drag on the cigarette, then turned his head and blew the smoke away from them. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do this tonight, just give me a second to get my head straight.”

“You’ve got twenty minutes. I’m gonna call the valet and get my car pulled for us, alright?” Jordi tugged his head down, pressing a quick kiss to Aiden’s forehead, then let go and walked back into the room.

Aiden stayed on the balcony a while longer, going easier on his cigarette as he carefully convinced his body that he was safe. Stupid, how something so little could throw him like that, but he’d have to figure out how to get that one in check. This wasn’t something like driving, where the necessity of the action was enough to burn the memories away with, so he needed to work through this on his own.

Over a fucking _vest_ of all things. At least he knew why he hated the thing so much—he’d hated all of Damien’s vests, sequined and embroidered and hanging loose half the time because Damien was too cheap and too lazy to get them fitted. He’d had a whole fucking collection of them, because it was _classy_ or some shit, but god forbid he wear something other than that frayed beanie. God forbid he tuck in his shirt.

God forbid he use them as an actual fashion statement, and not a way to make jabs at Aiden’s clothes, Aiden’s personality, Aiden’s inability to be honest with his family or himself.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, rubbing his fingers into his eyelids before pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a stress headache threatening, and he did _not_ have time for that. They had a job to do.

And the suit, perfectly tailored for his frame, with kevlar in the lining and room for him to hide his gun, was a comfort, not a ball and chain. Jordi might talk shit about his clothing, but it was always with that dry fondness, accompanied by unspoken acknowledgement that no one else dressed quite like either of them. He’d paid out a lot of money to get Aiden gussied up instead of telling him to buy a suit and then mocking him for whatever he’d picked up. It was a difference. It was an _important_ difference.

Once the cigarette was burned down to the filter, he stubbed it out and headed back inside. With his jacket on, it was harder to see Jordi’s vest, and that helped. What helped even more was the keys tossed across the room, their arc curved enough that Aiden had a warning before catching them. If Jordi was trusting him with the car, then they were still good.

“Did you pack any flashes?” he asked, skirting the edges of what he probably needed to talk about.

“On a fucking plane? I wish. Found some of those screaming annoyance things in your bag though, so you can stuff those in your pocket. I’m thinking we take some of the bigger guns with us in the car, tuck ‘em under the floorboards.” Jordi was talking like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened, and that was a relief.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words? So, my rifle and yours, or are you throwing in my shotgun too?” He tucked the keys in his outside pocket, then grabbed a couple of the tiny, remote activated distractions and stuffed them into an inner pocket. Might be handy if they needed to make their way out through a patrolled area.

“Nah, don’t wanna risk her. I can shoot a shotgun no problem, and I’ve got two more handguns under my jacket, so we should be good with that. Ammo’s already in the bag along with the guns, just need to take it downstairs.” Jordi grabbed their invitations, handing one over as he tucked his own in his jacket, then picked up Aiden’s duffel bag.

“We might be cutting the time close if they expect us in the doors at six,” Aiden said thoughtfully, doing a final sweep of the room before opening the door for Jordi. “I’m assuming lateness doesn’t matter to rich people though.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter to most of the people at this thing, that’s for sure. De Luca’s just a bastard who likes to show up early and leave even earlier for the afterparty, so I wanna catch him before he can.” Jordi looked odd in a black suit with a duffel bag, but neither of them looked any more out of place than the usual bachelors and wedding attendees in the casino hotel. Nobody even gave them a second glance.

The elevator was full of a mix of people dressed to the nines like them and the touristy gamblers who’d only bothered to throw on comfortable jeans and shirts. He and Jordi blended in, all the way out to the front where Jordi’s black, vicious-looking Maserati was waiting.

It made sense to take whatever car Jordi was renting—though Aiden had some _serious questions about the car Jordi was renting_ —rather than his own. For one, his car was nondescript and a little shabby; not a great match for two guys in suits, especially when one of those guys was Jordi. And then there was always the bonus of the speed. Depending on how close they cut it, the extra speed could come in handy.

He opened the passenger door for Jordi, shutting it behind him once the fixer was buckled in and the bag was dumped in the back. The driver’s seat wrapped around him like a warm, tender embrace, leather pressing into the silk of his suit as his hands trailed over the wheel. It might be Jordi’s car, but it took to Aiden like a lover, and he smiled at the purr as he pulled out of the hotel drop-off area and onto the road.

Like this, on the road, his freakout from earlier seemed even more trivial. Traffic was bad but not as terrible as it could be and his grip on wheel was steady. Aiden swallowed, then said, “Sorry about all that earlier. It was a stupid argument.”

Jordi’s hand landed on his thigh, broad and warm, fingers curling lightly against the muscle there. “Don’t worry about it. I hate vests too, they’re dumb as shit.”

Some of the tension still riding him dissipated, fading as Aiden snorted softly. A small part of him was still waiting for the next hit, but Jordi’s attention was on the window, not on him. If a fight was going to happen, it was going to happen after this job—which would be a success and put both of them in a better mood.

And Jordi was being kind enough to skirt around the real issue at hand.

Maybe not kind, necessarily. That was an old emotional scar that Aiden had no interest in approaching, and _Jordi_ certainly didn’t have the time or patience for other people emoting excessively at him. Right before a job? Neither of them had the time to deal with the fallout, and it wouldn’t do them any good to try it now. So maybe it wasn’t kindness so much as efficiency… and that was Jordi all over.

He kept going back to earlier, trying to reexamine that moment when everything had gone sideways. It was a like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop fussing with, trying to see why it hurt and how he could prevent it from hurting again. Right now wasn’t the best time to be caught up in this, but he needed to _know_ —the vest couldn’t be the only thing, right? What other situation would land him flat-footed, backwards in time with someone completely different?

After Quinn had died, after he’d laid Clara to rest and sent his sister away, he’d finally been able to put the memories of the crash back in a box too. Other than the nightmares, which he figured he’d never escape, he’d left that all behind. But if things were bubbling up again, sooner or later that box would crack open and he’d have to look at that again too. Not a good thing to be caught up in during a firefight.

If he was driving when the first, sickening moment the car flipped hit him again? He could fuck everything up. In the weeks following the crash, when he was driving despite his sprained wrist and cracked ribs, he’d nearly caused a few wrecks like that, abruptly compensating for an accident that wasn’t happening. If that started happening again, he wasn’t sure he’d walk away from the wreckage okay again.

Not a bit of bad luck he wanted to borrow. Aiden wrenched his thoughts out of that track, focusing instead on the heat of Jordi’s hand on his leg. They had a job to do, and if he kept his attention on _Jordi_ , it was less likely that memories would get the chance to overwhelm him. So that’s what he’d do.

There was a line of nice cars, from locals and higher-end taxi companies both, at the drop-off point for the other guests. Aiden pulled into it, reaching down to curl his fingers over Jordi’s and balancing himself with the feel of those battle-worn knuckles under his touch. How many fistfights had Jordi gotten into before he figured out that he liked the comfort of a rifle and a mile between himself and his targets?

“Meet me in the ballroom,” Jordi said, not looking away from the window. His hand flexed, a comforting squeeze on Aiden’s thigh, then withdrew as they pulled up to the curb.

Unspoken was the command for Aiden to hide the guns. He mentally ticked it off anyways, keeping his eyes forward like a proper chauffeur as Jordi climbed out of the car and strutted in with the rest of the monied guests. Then he carefully pulled out of line, swinging around the casino to the valet parking.

This line was pretty long too—more fancy cars, and more high-flying minor celebrities who just loved to be behind the wheel. That worked in his favor though, and between the ripples of movement in the queue, Aiden stowed the shotgun, his rifle, and the duffel bag with all the ammo in it separately under the back seat. If they had to grab the heavy weapons, he didn’t want to fight them out of the bag _and_ out from under the seat.

His task done, he finally pulled up to the valet ten minutes later, getting his ticket with the number and leaving the keys behind. With as harried and busy as they were, he had a feeling that none of them would go peeking in the car… no matter how nice it was.

The procession into the casino was full of laughing, already drunk wanna-be-wealthy idiots, half of them nearly falling off the escalators on their first tries. Given how damned _sober_ he’d somehow stayed this entire trip, Aiden felt a little resentful of that—but not resentful enough to ignore the advantage it would give them. The more guests were tipsy and falling over, the easier it would be for them to make their way out.

And, better still, there were people in suits and gowns scattered all around the shops and casino, either from a desire to arrive fashionably late or a desire to do something more fun that stand around at a charity ball. Maybe they weren’t dancers. He couldn’t bring himself to care, one way or another. All that mattered was the fact that he went completely unremarked on.

Aiden walked through the shopping area like he had somewhere to be, waiting for a break in the rhythm of the security forces to move into one of the service halls. From there, it was a short skip to a glorified closet that held a connection point for the internal security system. Like he’d told Jordi, these casinos hated the idea of letting Blume into their systems, but _he_ wasn’t Blume. And, more importantly, he had a lot of experience with breaking into systems people didn’t want him in.

The screen of his phone scrolled with code as he carefully picked his way through firewalls, eventually breaking through to what he needed. They might not trust Blume, but the system had been built on ctOS’s backbone—that made it easier to work with. Once he had control over the power and the cameras, he unhooked himself and slid back out of the service hallway, falling into step with a group of partygoers as they made their way to the ballroom.

Jordi, outside of his usual pale suits, was harder to spot in the crowd. The ballroom was pretty goddamn massive, and it was a big charity event. At a guess, Aiden would peg the attendance as somewhere around nine hundred, maybe a thousand people. Not enough to fill the room wall to wall, but enough to make a few uncomfortable clusters as he tried to navigate between food-laden tables and avoid the broad swath of the dance floor.

Black suit after black suit after black suit, until the flood of them was a grating as the high, artificial laughter of some of the attendees. He had his phone open, swapping between his connection to the hotel camera feeds and the outflow of information from everyone else, but none of the phones he was seeing were Jordi’s. A few were locked down properly, most of them were ripe for the picking, but none of them were that _emptiness_ occupied only by games that he knew Jordi’s phone to be. Banks accounts, legal names, moods, text conversations—he had everything he could ever want to know about these people at his fingertips.

But no Jordi.

His shoulders tightened as the minutes ticked by without the other fixer appearing. Clearly, his slow circuit of the room wasn’t working. Time to switch tacks and try something different. If he couldn’t find Jordi to hunt down De Luca, maybe he could find De Luca and use _him_ to bait out Jordi.

Luck was with him, finally—Davide De Luca was a compulsive social media user, with two separate phones attached to his various accounts. It was easier to spot his data in the flood, and from there, Aiden found the man himself. Ostentatious blue suit, sequined shoes, and a coiffed hairstyle that probably had enough gel to properly catch flame. He looked obnoxious.

No wonder Jordi had been so annoyed by his inability to catch him.

Aiden didn’t approach the man himself, instead skirting around the crowd of sycophants and fellow internet celebrities. The plan wasn’t for Jordi to move in until he killed the lights, so he wouldn’t be around them. But he would be close, in a spot with clear paths to the exits, maybe with something to drink.

Eventually, it was the white tie that caught his attention, the one deviation from the sea of black. Jordi’s expression was carefully neutral, but the tightness at the edges of his eyes eased when Aiden stepped up beside him, hands lazily shoved in his pockets. Now that he’d found his quarry, he didn’t need his phone out.

“Took you long enough,” Jordi said without looking at him, sipping at a glass of champagne.

“I’m not used to fancy parties like this, cut me some slack.” Aiden rocked back on his heels, watching De Luca’s group migrate closer to one of the walls. “I have total control of the utilities and I can set the cameras to loop for the next hour. A full minute of people moving on the floor, so it won’t be noticed right away.”

“What about the rest of the casino?” Jordi took another sip, then handed his glass over, fingers warm as they brushed against Aiden’s on the stem.

“I can either block us out—I’m already blocked out, actually—or I can set them all up to fail. Your call. Latter is probably safer, but the former is more innocuous.” The champagne was sweet and fizzy still, the glass almost completely full. He downed about half of it, listening to Jordi snort softly beside him, then swirled the rest in the glass as he tracked all the cameras in the ballroom.

“Mm. Go with the first one. It’s part of why I wore black in the first place. How long is that going to take you? De Luca’s looking ready to peel out in the next thirty minutes.”

“Give me two minutes,” Aiden said, pulling his phone out with his other hand and hopping over to his personal facial recognition blocker. For the most part, Jordi seemed fine with just letting ctOS fumble when it came to identifying him, but if he wanted his face turned into a blur, Aiden could do that. He set the program to run using Jordi’s phone as a trigger, then set the ballroom cameras to loop.

Beside him, Jordi slipped a hand into his jacket, like he was planning on pulling his own phone out. Everyone around them kept laughing, not noticing the rise of eager tension in either of them, totally unaware of what was about to come. Once they set this off, they’d have to move fast—Jordi’s guy, then his own, before either of them had a chance to run and hide. There was no room for error here.

He called the valet, rattling off his number. The guy sounded vaguely aggrieved to have a car pulled out again so quickly, but he didn’t say anything—Aiden made sympathetic sounds before hanging up. Five minutes until their car came out.

“Route?” Jordi asked, gaze locked on De Luca’s face.

“Clear. The casino and the meeting areas will be black, but the storefronts won’t. Everyone will be watching those, not the casino floor—act scared enough by the valet, and no one should question us leaving like this.” Four and a half minutes, now. They’d have to move fast, but the valets would probably understand how big of a clusterfuck that was… if they heard about it at all.

“Alright. I’m gonna go put a couple holes in this fucker’s head.” Jordi moved forward, hand still in his jacket, trusting Aiden to have his back.

“Killing the lights,” Aiden said, flicking his thumb over the surface of his phone.

The reaction was instant. A number of startled screams, and then nervous laughter. A few jokes about needing the charity funds for a better venue next time. He bent over to set his glass on the floor, then started to head for one of the exits, using his phone to navigate. As he moved past crowds of moderately wealthy nobodies, he could hear the anxiety that wanted to be something more in their voices, people asking if they should try and leave, more jokes about the need for more alcohol.

And then, under the rising murmur of confusion, at the very edges of his hearing, the sound of a suppressed gunshot. Just one, clean and perfect.

He reached a door, held it open for a few people who were trying to see if the blackened hallway was any better, and kept an ear out. Forty-five seconds after Jordi finished his job, he heard the first shriek of horror.

Jordi’s hand brushed his wrist, calloused fingers curling up under the cuff of Aiden’s sleeve. He let himself be tugged forwards and fell into step, listening as the first shriek turned into two, twenty, more people screaming now not because they knew what had happened but because the panic was contagious. If the lights didn’t come back on soon, it would be a stampede.

Even when they did, the fear was probably strong enough to catch fire anyways.

“Left in thirty feet,” Aiden said, voice just loud enough for Jordi to hear over the increasingly frightened tide of voices. People were trying to be quiet, but they were scared.

Jordi followed his direction, adjusting course. There was emergency lighting in the casino, but the machines were dead along with the lights, so the whole room was ominously dim, emergency lighting casting everything in a dull orange glow. People milled in place, too worried to try and move just yet, and employees hastily assured everyone around them that the lights would be on again soon, it might have been a short, everything would be fine—

The blackout ended as they came up to the foyer just ahead of the pickup point. Relieved laughter followed them like a wave, the people on the casino floor behind them still unaware of what had happened at the charity event. The valets were peering into the casino worriedly, but they didn’t do anything to stop Aiden from collecting his keys and hopping into the driver’s seat of the Maserati.

Calm, controlled movement. That was the ticket.

He turned the car out of the casino driveway, then gave it a little gas, speeding down the road towards the casino Foster was clubbing at. They had maybe fifteen minutes before news of the shooting broke, sending the whole city into a panic. Maybe less before the blackout was reported on. He needed to get there before Foster was warned.

 

But then again, with the man’s security team in shambles, maybe that wasn’t such a concern anymore. Aiden let himself smile, tight and eager, the delayed rush of adrenaline starting to hit now that they were out of danger from the first job.

He pulled into the next casino’s parking garage, fingers tapping on the wheel as he hunted for a spot that was a straight shot to the exit. Excitement clawed its way up his gut, excitement and the anxiety of any high-profile job, the knowledge that they could be caught at any second riding the back of his thoughts. Jordi had yanked off the vest, dumping it in the backseat with his jacket, and was tugging off his tie now, stripping to an entirely different look from his party best.

Aiden parked them and followed suit, tossing his tie back after turning off the car, then climbing out. The rifle was sitting on top of the bag under the seat, and he loaded a single magazine into it before pulling it on, fastening the strap under his jacket. Across the roof of the car, he could see Jordi checking his guns before pulling his own jacket back on, leaving the extra ammo and shotgun under the seat. They wouldn’t need it for this.

“Alright,” Aiden said, gun hidden as he hacked the view of the cameras around them, “time for the fun part.”


	8. tidal volume_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It began with fucking, it's ending with fucking. Also, because Vindart is a demon, the theme song of this chapter is Crank That (Soulja Boy).
> 
> Warning for simulated mass shooting at the beginning of this; only one person dies on screen, but Aiden aims to make a mass panic in the most efficient way possible and, well. He's already got a gun. So heads up for that.

**April 16th, 2017, 19:47**

 

The heavy beat of the bass hit him before they reach the back entrance to the club, guiding them forward through the service halls. Aiden’s heart thudded in time to it, adrenaline flooding his veins as he pulled Jordi into an alcove, out of sight from any security guards. The casino security was partitioned off from the club’s security, but he’s still able to get access to it—the lights, the sound systems, the cameras. The doors.

“And you’re sure no one’s going to see my car?” Jordi asked, though there’s anticipation in his voice rather than worry. Just because he didn’t _want_ to be caught didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy it. Aiden knew the feeling.

“Cameras are blocked and the security guards weren’t paying attention, so you’ll be fine.” He unplugged himself from the hardline, then gave in to impulse and pressed a hard, quick kiss to Jordi’s lips.

Fingers tangled in his hair, Jordi dragging him closer as he kissed Aiden back, his teeth catching Aiden’s lip as he pulled away. “Let’s get your guy so we can fucking blow this joint.”

With a sharp, tight smile, Aiden slipped around him and headed back down the service hallway. The beat played on his phone now, not just in his blood and his ears, his control over the speakers absolute. He toyed with a few different ways to take advantage of that, rifle swinging low over his shoulder, but decided that simplicity was best. Couldn’t go wrong with the basics.

Jordi was half a step behind him, handgun out. Not that they were planning on a big show, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. And it would help sell the illusion.

“It’s going to be loud,” Aiden warned him, hefting his rifle up. On his phone, Foster stepped up to the bar, his security team long gone, his pride too much to let them stick around when he was so angry at them. All of Aiden’s meddling had come to fruition.

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m wearing earplugs,” Jordi said, pressing a finger to his ear to check the fit. “Now or never, Aiden.”

He waited a couple heartbeats, watched Foster step away from the bar, into a clear space, a perfect opening for someone to move into. “Now.”

Jordi slammed the door open, the sound lost in the beat of the music, and the loudness hit them like a wall. With a flick of his thumb, Aiden set off the trap he’d been working on, sending a sound file to the speakers—game footage overlaying war documentaries, the sharp rattle-crack of bullets coming from every speaker in the club.

The screams started half a second later, everyone so disoriented that no one realized the sounds were manufactured and Foster was frozen like a deer in the headlights. No bodyguards. No self-preservation.

Just for fun, Aiden hit his knees first, driving the bullets through blood and bone into the floor behind him. No civilians hit, but the dull snap of his rifle firing was lost in the cacophony blowing out the speakers left and right. Jordi was at his shoulder, keeping their possible retreat clear, and no one had noticed him yet, not with so much sound coming from all around them.

The third bullet took Foster in the head, spraying his brains out along the front of the bar, the bullet embedding in a steel support.

He swung his rifle back down, tightening the strap over his front so that it was high and tight under his jacket. Not perfectly hidden, but hidden enough when he dove into the crowd, phone in hand, modifying the sound file a little. More screams along with the bullets now, greater variance in the sound of the gunfire, ratcheting up the sound just a little bit higher as he set the lights all to flash rapidly.

There was a tight crush of bodies, people surging for every exit as fast as they could. They were lucky that he only had one target in mind, because it would have been so easy to turn this into a bloodbath. Hell, it might become one anyways—people were stumbling, nearly tripping under the stampede of feet, light and sound sending them reeling until they could barely move forwards anymore. He caught one woman by the arm, swinging her back upright when she fell, then pushed her close to the wall for balance.

The door, and then the casino, Jordi still hot on his heels. Security guards were trying to make their way back into the club, but the tide of bodies was preventing them from getting very far. The screams were turning into sobs as people broke into open areas, but enough of them were still running for the exits that he and Jordi could blend right in.

Slot machines, marble floors, bright lights, and then the echoing concrete of the parking garage as he ran for the car. Jordi leapt into the passenger seat as Aiden tossed him the rifle, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and starting the car all in one motion. He didn’t bother to buckle up before pulling out of his space, whipping out of the garage and dodging clubgoers as he swung to the exit.

Flashing lights swept down the highway towards him, but he wasn’t the only car speeding away as fast as possible. None of them turned around. They were free and clear.

He grinned, yanking his seatbelt over his shoulder, then turned them towards the hotel. Jordi was laughing softly in the seat beside him, having stowed the rifle under the backseat. They’d retrieve it later in the week, after it would be less suspicious for them to come into the hotel with a duffel bag.

“I fucking _love_ when a plan goes off without a hitch,” Jordi said, color high in his cheeks as he flashed Aiden a feral grin of his own. There was a particular light in his eyes, a gleam that promised nothing but good things, and it took all of Aiden’s self-control to keep from slamming his foot on the gas and getting to the hotel sooner.

When he finally pulled in to the vehicle drop-off point, Jordi grabbed his vest and tie off the backseat, swinging Aiden’s black tie around his neck along with the white one. With a couple drags of his fingers through his hair and the top button of his shirt undone, he looked disheveled and like they’d been doing something _very_ different on the way home.

Aiden swallowed, handed his keys off to the valet, then gave into temptation again and dragged Jordi in for another kiss in front of the doors. A few people glanced at them in irritation or disgust, but he didn’t care, Jordi’s hands fisting in his shirt as his mouth opened for Aiden’s tongue. The thrill rode him hard, anxious, eager energy turning into something else entirely, and he gasped softly when Jordi finally pulled away and started dragging him into the hotel again.

The journey back to their room passed in a blur, Jordi shifting his grip from the front of Aiden’s shirt to his collar, white silk crushed under his fingers. Someone else might have seen it as him containing his unruly boyfriend, but Aiden could feel the rigid tension in Jordi’s forearm, the way he moved _so_ carefully from the elevator to their door. Jordi couldn’t let him go, but didn’t want to get arrested for indecent exposure, so he had this instead: Aiden, in his grip, completely under his possession and eager for whatever might come.

A week ago, that realization might have been uncomfortable. But now? Now, the only thing Aiden wanted to do was to prove that thought _right_.

“Bedroom,” Jordi said, voice tight as he shoved Aiden forwards and started to shuck out of his clothes. Aiden was all too happy to follow that order, dumping his suit jacket on the floor and yanking his shirt out from under his slacks, fumbling at the buttons as he made his way to the bed.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress to pull his shoes off, setting his holstered gun on the bedside table. That was how Jordi found him, in nothing but his underwear as he finished pulling the rest of his clothes off, still seated on the tangled sheets. A hard shove to his chest and Aiden was falling back, staring up at Jordi who’d pulled off everything but his shirt, the iridescent satin like blood against his pale skin.

“Feeling frisky?” Aiden asked, swallowing hard as Jordi leaned over him, the open tails of his shirt dragging over Aiden’s skin.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jordi said, his hand sliding up until his fingers were curled around Aiden’s neck, just enough pressure to let him know they were there. His pulse, already going a mile a minute, kicked up another notch.

“Might have a bit of an idea,” he said, breathing shallowly. With every inhale, he could feel Jordi’s palm against his throat, the touch light enough to tease. “Am I getting a chance to redeem myself here?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. You did fantastic tonight, and I’m sure you’ll do fantastic here too.” Jordi smirked, lip half lifting to show the white gleam of his teeth. It gave him a predatory air, like he was about to rip Aiden’s throat out, and _damn_ if that thought wasn’t more appealing than it should be.

“That’s good,” he whispered, voice so low that it was almost inaudible. Jordi’s skin was hot against his, like a brand.

Jordi made a mild noise of affirmation, his other hand hooking in the waistband of Aiden’s underwear. Now that he had Aiden under him, it was like whatever furious _need_ he’d been carrying was packed away again, only the hard curve of his cock betraying just how much he wanted this. The motion to drag Aiden’s underwear off was slow and methodical, fabric dragging over his thighs and down to his knees.

The fingers around his neck were steady, never increasing in pressure. Aiden felt like he was suffocating anyways, gulping in shallow, hungry breaths as he lifted his legs, one after the other, to help Jordi tug his underwear completely off. Every time his legs brushed against Jordi’s it was like a shock, lighting striking at the touch of skin on skin.

“You know, I was about ten seconds from bending you over in that elevator,” Jordi said conversationally, his free hand dragging up Aiden’s side, nails biting into the scar tissue there and sending more lightning up his spine.

“Yeah?” he managed, barely able to focus on the dark eyes boring into him, the red satin draping around them both, the tight curve of Jordi’s body over his. If Jordi didn’t fuck him in the next five minutes, he was pretty sure he’d die of lust.

“Mm. But, y’know, you really fucking _killed_ it tonight.” His feral smile widened. “And I remember how badly you wanted to choke on my cock. So I figured I’d indulge you a little. Tell me how bad you want it, Aiden.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he hissed, every other thought leaving his head. How to encompass the huge amount of _wanting_ that Jordi sparked in him? There weren’t words enough in the world to say just how much his body ached for him, craved his touch even when Aiden knew it was dangerous. Jordi was the hardest drug he’d ever done, and he loved it. “So fucking bad, I—Jordi, fuck, please just—”

Hard to speak when he didn’t have the words for it, and even harder when he couldn’t pull in a full breath no matter what. But he’d gotten the point across, Jordi laughing softly, his teeth white and sharp in the dim light of the bedroom.

“Don’t fucking move,” Jordi said, finally pulling the hand off his throat. Aiden couldn’t help the small noise of dismay he made, but he didn’t move, tracking Jordi’s motion across the room as he collected the lube and a condom. His obedience earned him a long, filthy kiss once Jordi was back, fingers dragging through his hair as Jordi owned his mouth the way he owned every other inch of him.

“Please,” Aiden whispered when the kiss broke, his hands reaching up to fist in the cool satin of Jordi’s shirt.

“Such a good fucking boy for me,” Jordi whispered back, popping the lid on the lube and sliding the condom on. Aiden’s voice caught on a soft, pleading noise, head tipping back against the sheets as Jordi’s cock pushed into him, throat open and inviting for those fingers to return.

The tender press of Jordi’s thumb at his clavicle was his only warning before that hand was locked around his windpipe, cutting off Aiden’s air completely as he tried to gasp. His hands fisted tighter in Jordi’s shirt, eyes open but unseeing as he fought for air, the strain of it making him arch up and rock his hips into Jordi’s steady thrusts.

His attention was wholly focused on that hand, on the bruising pressure threatening to take over him. It started as a tingle at his fingers, black creeping in at the edges of his vision, turned into his mouth open and lungs _burning_ , desperate for just a second, just—

The pressure let up and he sucked in a gasp of air, swung back into his body all at once. His nerves were on fire, Aiden hyperaware of every single thing touching his skin and especially the too-sweet breath in his lungs seconds before Jordi’s fingers tightened again and he lost the chance to take advantage of his reprieve.

That awareness lingered, every touch lighting him up, Jordi’s cock driving into him hard and fast as he hooked a leg over Jordi’s hip, tightened his thighs around his waist. Begged with his body, because he couldn’t give up the precious air to beg with his mouth. Clutched at the fabric of Jordi’s shirt like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him afloat in the sea of pleasure he was drowning in.

Stars burst behind his eyelids as they fluttered shut, the vice on his throat letting up just long enough for him to gasp again, floating this side of consciousness. It hit him like a truck, flooded him with a want stronger than anything he’d ever felt before, and Aiden sobbed in relief as he came. His whole body was shaking, spine arched so tight that it could be snapped in half like a twig, and Jordi was still thrusting, driving into him hard and fast as he swore under his breath.

He’d done that, Aiden realized, delirious with bliss and oxygen deprivation. _He’d_ been the one to reduce Jordi to that, frantic rutting into his body as the hand on his throat moved to clutch at the sheets hard enough to rip the thin fabric.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jordi hissed, his other hand bruisingly tight on Aiden’s hip. A shudder rolled through him as his cock drove home a final time, his whole body hunched over Aiden possessively as he came.

“No kidding,” Aiden rasped dreamily, letting the crinkled satin drop from his fingers as he reached up to cup Jordi’s face. It wasn’t allowed, technically, he should’ve asked, but floating as high as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to care. And Jordi clearly didn’t care either, pushing forward to kiss him, long and slow.

Every stolen breath between kisses was like a new draught of ambrosia, his fingers fisting in Jordi’s hair as Aiden drank in the feeling of him. Hard muscles against his own, surprisingly gentle hands dragging up his thighs, and the euphoria of a job well done tangled in with the euphoria of being around _Jordi_.

“Good boy,” Jordi murmured against his lips, his dark eyes closed for once.

_I love you_ , Aiden didn’t say back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some stuff: this took almost a year to finish! Wow I did not expect it to take that long. But, with that in mind, and with the final in this planned trilogy (Rough Seas) being closer to Still Waters in how tight I need to plot to be, I'm probably not going to be posting it as I go. Instead, I'm planning on writing it all in one go and then turning around and posting on a schedule; that'll give me the chance to make sure everything is going from A to B the way it should be.
> 
> _That said_ I do have a couple other side projects that I might start posting. One AU that's a three parter, with each part around ~12k words, a couple more oneshots in the Into The Storm 'verse, and another AU which I will probably start posting in a few days that's got smaller chapters on average, 2-3k mostly. We'll see how it goes! And thank y'all _so_ much for sticking around with me through this, it means a lot to get your comments on these even if I don't always respond.  <3


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